ignite
by bloodylip
Summary: When Skye Hamilton backs out of the biggest event of the year, Massie Block finds herself on a wild goose chase to save her job and somehow ends up capturing the attention of a member of the super famous boy band, Low State.
1. december 27th

NOTE: I know next to nothing about the Times Square Alliance, just things that I was able to Google, so. Yeah. I've probably screwed up the jobs and stuff, but it made sense to me, so pls ignore all mistakes I might have made.

I'm taking a bit of a break from TINP. It's doing nothing but exhausting me, but there should be some sort of update up by the end of the month or the beginning of the next. I just need a little inspiration and unfortunately, when I opened up a word doc to write, this came out instead. It shouldn't be that long of a story, just something fun. It also would make more sense to post this in the wintertime, but I'll probably end up finishing it by that time anyway, knowing the way I update...

Anyway, tell me what you think in a review!

* * *

**IGNITE  
**When Skye Hamilton backs out of the biggest event of the year, Massie Block finds herself on a wild goose chase to save her job and somehow ends up capturing the attention of a member of the super famous boy band, Low State.

* * *

**.:. december 27th .:.**

Griffin Hastings was pretty rad as far as bosses went. He closed the office early more often than not, bought the staff the best kind of cookies at the end of each month, and hardly found anything serious. He was honest, loved a good laugh, and enjoyed being kept on his toes. Those who worked with and for him would swear up and down that Griffin Hastings was the most genuine of people.

Though all of this was very much true, it could not be said of the man when December rolled around. Even more, it could not be said of him five days before the biggest event of the year. Griffin Hastings, President of the Times Square Alliance, had a lot on his shoulders the entire month, preparing the city for the New Year's Eve Ball Drop, and to be called into his office at this time was _not_ the most ideal situation. It was well known that the only time Griffin fired anyone was during this week.

So when Massie Block was summoned, the whole office froze—except for Massie Block herself. She stood, smoothing her skirt, and ignored the curious gazes falling on her. It was no secret the planning this year had gone perfectly; everything was in place, had been since mid-October, maybe. There was _nothing_ to worry about. She offered them all a smile and made her way to the closed door at the front of the room. He just probably wanted to double-check some details.

Carrie Randolph stopped her on her way, hand wrapping around her wrist. "Massie," she hissed, "he's irritable. Be careful."

The secretary, too, shared her worries with the brunette before she knocked on the door. "He's been yelling on the phone all morning," she confided in a hushed whisper. "I don't know what it's about, but… He sent the interns to get him those macaroons he likes, too. Multiple times. One even went across town to get him gelato."

"I'm sure it's fine," Massie assured her. "No need to worry." But she was, just a smidgen. She ran her fingers through her hair, her only nervous tick, and threw the chestnut tresses over her shoulder before knocking once, then twice, on the wooden door.

Griffin said nothing, she didn't expect him to, and she turned the knob, entering the room. The secretary wished her luck just as the door clicked shut behind her.

Griffin's office was nothing like the desks organized outside. As president, he got his own space, seeing as he overlooked everything and needed silence. Normally this room was immaculate, but as Massie made her way to a chair, she noticed the chaos. Papers were strewn all about, the phone was off the hook, a number of coffee cups filled the trashbin, and those macaroons the secretary told her about sat in a box on the floor. Each one had a bite taken from it. Griffin, however, was the messiest of them all. His hair looked as if he'd run his fingers through it too many times to count and his tie was loosened so much that it hung far down his chest. Massie hesitated at his desk, watching him with a concerned pout.

Griffin pushed his sleeves up his elbows, and didn't waste any time with small talk: "Skye Hamilton backed out."

Massie gripped the side of the desk. "_What_?"

"As Head of the Communications Department, this should have gone through you. I am unsure as to why I received this call… Have you heard anything?"

"Not since she agreed to perform in October," Massie admitted, taking a seat. She felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "She really backed out? Now?"

"Apparently. I spoke with her manager," Griffin explained. "You have to fix this."

_How?_ she wanted to ask, but cleverly kept her mouth shut. Seeming inadequate in front of her boss wouldn't put her in his good graces, especially now. "What would you like me to do?" she asked instead.

"Get her back," answered Griffin. "I don't care how you do it. I don't care if we up her pay or if we promise she can host. She committed months in advance, I _need_ her there. Everyone's excited for Skye Hamilton; if she's not the one they get to spend New Year's with, someone will get fired."

Massie could tell by the look on his face that he was not going to be that someone. "Okay," she said. "I'll work it out."

"I'm counting on you, Massie. The _world_ is counting on you."

.:.

_"Hi, this is Massie Block from the Times Square Alliance… There's news that Skye Hamilton has backed out of performing on New Year's Eve… If you could just get back to me and clear this whole thing up, I'd really appreciate it…"_

_"Massie Block again. From the Times Square Alliance. Skye agreed in writing to perform on Friday, but I'm sure you know that, as her manager. I'd really like to speak to you about this crazy situation. My number is…"_

_"…if you could stop ignoring me, that would be great…"_

_"You made a commitment…"_

_"There are _five days_ until the new year. You can't back out like this without any notice…"_

.:.

Claire Lyons swallowed a mouthful of pasta, eyeing Massie critically. "That was just a _little_ harsh, don't you think?"

Massie returned that look, and slammed her phone against the table. She was seething at Skye's manager's complete disrespect, wishing she had her old flip phone to slap shut. She remembered there being something so completely satisfying about hearing that snap… and she could really go for that sort of pleasure right now, or else she was about to order that double chocolate cake she saw when she walked in earlier.

"_Actually_," Alicia Rivera piped in, "it wasn't harsh enough."

"I mean, maybe she has a good reason," suggested Claire. "Not that that excuses her manager from ignoring you."

"Do you know anything?" Massie ignored her blonde friend, looking over at her other.

Alicia paused and shook her head. "Not yet, but I'm on it."

"See, this makes no sense to me! She cancels this performance and keeps her tour, which starts, like, three days after New Year's Eve?"

"Maybe she's sick," Claire offered. "She'd want to be all rested up for the tour. It's pretty reasonable."

"She's got five days to get better," Massie grumbled. "My _job _is on the line." She ran her fingers through her hair for the thirtieth time that hour, effectively ruining the sleek, straight look she'd opted for that morning. "Griffin has me off office duty to fix this and I can't even get in _touch_ with this drama queen—I was hired to communicate and I can't even do that right!"

"Deep breaths, Mass," Alicia instructed. "We'll figure this out. You won't get fired. I've got Olivia digging up dirt with Kori and Strawberry. They'll figure it out."

Right out of high school, Alicia started a gossip blog, due to her obsession with the gossip points Massie used to hand out when they were younger to anyone with the best story. The site rose to fame a few years after its launch and now Alicia was the creator and head of a website more popular than Perez Hilton's. She knew everything and anything about everyone worth knowing about, including Skye Hamilton, America's sweetheart. She was Massie's best bet.

The brunette sighed. "I absolutely hate celebrities."

"Don't we all?" Alicia agreed absentmindedly, thumbing through her phone again. Her meal laid untouched by her elbow.

"I'm _sure_ she has a good reason," Claire reiterated.

"Whatever it is, it's not good enough for me. Or Griffin, for that matter," Massie grumbled. "We need her there Friday night—no matter the cost."

"So, what's your plan if you ever get in touch with her?" the blonde asked. "She's already canceled. What would make her change her mind?"

Massie lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Whatever she wants," she said. "Griffin's willing to pull out all the stops. We've been broadcasting this for _months_. Every commercial, every advertisement—_live with Skye Hamilton_—I can't _believe_ she'd—"

"Wait, wait, _WAIT_," Alicia interrupted loudly, using a spare hand to slap at Massie. "Look at this!" She shoved her phone in the girl's face. While trying to focus on the screen, Massie felt Claire peek from behind her.

** DylanMarvil  
**SO excited to have _skyeham_ in the studio today - look out for her on _thedailygrind_ on Wednesday morning!

"Call her up!" Claire exclaimed, loud in Massie's ear.

"I haven't talk to Dylan in forever, though." Massie pushed the phone away and pressed her elbows to the table. "I highly doubt she'd let me into her show. Don't you need tickets to be in the audience?"

"We're all best friends," Alicia countered, taking a long sip of her lemonade. "Just give her a call. Dylan's pretty understanding."

Massie nibbled at her bottom lip. "I don't know. Isn't it kind of late? There's no way I'll get there in time."

"You just said your job was on the line," Alicia said, "and you were willing to do whatever it took to make sure it wasn't. You've got nothing to lose, Mass. Give it a shot."

"…Fine, fine." Massie reached for her abandoned cell, dialing a number she'd hadn't used in months.

.:.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Massie breathed, bringing her arms around Dylan Marvil in a bone-crushing hug.

"Anything for a friend, you know that," the redhead said. "Now go. You can tell me everything later."

Massie flashed a smile to the guard on duty and slipped past him to where Skye Hamilton was waiting for the interview to begin. It would be a while—maybe twenty minutes—since it was scheduled for the end of the show. Massie learned from Dylan a few minutes ago that Skye was to talk about her album, the tour, and then finish off with her latest single, "Broken Crown."

It irritated her to no end and crossed off Claire's first idea. Skye was most definitely not sick. Not if she was singing here and then continuing on with her tour. _Celebrities_, Massie thought with a scoff.

The dressing room door was open just ajar when she arrived and Massie could hear the light conversation between the girl and someone else. Her manager, most likely. Just the two people Massie wanted to speak with.

She straightened her mussed up outfit, untangled her necklaces, and knocked on the door.

Skye looked up, face stretching to accommodate her large smile. It rather blew her away, reminding Massie how beautiful the girl really was. It was no wonder the world was in love with her. Her buttery blonde hair fell down her back in waves, the blue in her eyes was accented only with white liner, and she was dressed conservatively, but cute, in a way that inspired many young girls. It made Massie even angrier- the superstar was practically perfect in every way.

"We're fine, thank you," the older woman in the room spoke before Massie could. She was in every way Skye's carbon copy and also, from the looks of it, her manager. "You can tell your people to stop coming by every two minutes."

"_Mom_—"

"I'm not here to see if you're okay," Massie cut in, leaning against the wall. "My name is Massie Block and I'm part of the Times Square Alliance." The look on the older woman's face would've been comical if Massie had been anyone else. "My boss wants to know why you've decided to back out, but more importantly, he wants to know what we can do to get you to agree to perform." _And I want to know why you've been ignoring my calls_. It looked like the woman was attached to her phone.

Skye's full lips turned into a frown for mere seconds before she said, "I'm so sorry, but I really need to take some time for myself."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah." Skye nodded. "Something's come up and I'm not really feeling much like myself. I'm even canceling the first part of my tour. Reimbursing everyone, of course. That's what I'm here to talk about."

Massie refrained from balling her hands up into fists. "You can't take the time off _after_ the ball drops? Everyone's looking forward to it!"

"No, she can't," her manager snapped. "Now if you could stop badgering her…"

"What can I do to change your mind?" Massie demanded hurriedly, sticking her foot out to keep the door from slamming in her face. "Anything you want. _Anything_."

"My daughter wants time to herself and she will get time to herself."

"Anything," Massie all but begged. "We'll double your pay. You can host…" She echoed Griffin's words rather pathetically. Nothing else seemed to come to mind, though she knew they would do whatever it took to get Skye Hamilton on to that stage in the middle of Times Square. "_Please_," she added. "Anything you want. My job—"

Somehow the door slammed in her face, just inches from her nose. Massie grabbed at the doorknob, twisting and twisting, though it would not move. She could hear Skye and her mother talking—arguing, maybe? She desperately hoped so—and she let out a low shriek, stomping her foot in a way very reminiscent to how she acted in her youth.

"_My job is on the line here_!" she shouted, slamming her fists on the door and trying to appeal to the heart Skye's mother didn't seem to have. "_Please!_" She slammed herself against the barrier between them, hoping one of them would open it.

They didn't, and eventually Massie was asked to leave.

.:.

Angry, distraught, and devoid of all hope, Massie strode out of Dylan's studio (after, of course, promising the girl that she'd call her later. She owed her that much) and into a New York City side street. She was hit with an onslaught of girlish screams and some even worse than that. One sounded like she was being murdered; the high pitch of it made Massie's ears bleed.

A security guard—one she didn't recognize as working for The Daily Grind—gripped her by the forearms. "You can't be on this side of the street."

"Let go of me," Massie snapped, wriggling away from him. It didn't work; he only held on tighter. "I'm just trying to leave."

"Don't dawdle," he ordered, shoving her into the hands of another guard. This one was a lot nicer than she anticipated, letting her regain her balance and fix her hair.

"What's this all about?" she asked, feeling particularly curious. She hadn't seen this big of a mob since she was in seventh grade and the Dial L For Loser movies began. Connor Foley used to be a pretty big deal back then.

"Low State," was the man's curt response.

"The boy band?" Massie asked, but the security guard was gone, hurrying into the sea of screaming girls alongside the rude man she'd dealt with not even five minutes ago.

She was left alone then, something they probably wouldn't like, and she would've moved—she had no interest in this Low State—but she was kind of intrigued by the chaos they created.

One girl was sobbing hysterically. Another was gripping the beanie she tore off a dark-haired boy's head. He didn't seem to mind, but everyone else did. The main problem was the girl that had jumped over the gate keeping the crowd in and was currently attached to the blonde on the very end. He was laughing, as was the guy next to him.

Massie cocked her head to the side, taking this all in. It was insane, absolutely insane. The fact that these group of boys—men—how old were they?—had this much power over girls… It made Massie lightheaded, and their screaming caused her anger to escalate, and that reminded her of the awful time she just had with Skye Hamilton and her mother and how she was going to be unemployed by the time Friday rolled around. Which was completely unpleasant.

She rolled her eyes as a group of girls—they couldn't be older than thirteen—screeched one of the boys' names as he came near (Cam?) and turned on her heel to leave. She needed a new plan to convince Skye to sing and there was no way she'd be able to think in this kind of atmosphere.

Another round of screaming ensued as she made her way down the street. She was going to have a nice cup of coffee, she decided, and think about all the ways she could manipulate the teen sensation. Maybe she'd even call Alicia up and have her brainstorm with her; with all her connections, she'd be able to come up with anything.

Unfortunately, she realized she'd walked in the wrong direction, and she froze. It'd be easier—and less stressful—to just keep going and find a different route, but it would take away from her thinking time, and she needed as much as she could get right now. The clock was ticking.

With a disgruntled sigh, Massie spun around and marched back the way she came. That boy band was no longer with the girls, but they continued to giggle, shriek, cry, and whatever else their fanbase did. She watched them again, still amazed at their reaction. The ones in the front row were sharing pictures on their phones despite the fact that they hardly knew each other, and a bunch of them were squealing over Kemp, whoever he was, touching them.

Massie was so interested in them she wasn't paying attention to what was in front of her, and the next thing she knew, she was walking right into someone else. She stumbled backward, almost losing her footing in her heels. Two arms wrapped around her—or they tried to, at least—and she was kept from thoroughly embarrassing and bruising herself in front of everyone in the street, but the force they used to keep her upright only managed to have her go in the opposite direction, and she found her face buried in that person's chest… and she was very much displeased.

"Sorry," she muttered, righting herself. She was pretty sure her cheeks were on fire.

They didn't let go of her, even when she was perfectly all right. "You okay?" they asked, voice deep and rumbly.

"Yeah, fine, thanks," she said, meeting the eyes of what ended up being one of the members of Low State, or Lost Cause, or whatever their band was called. He was rather attractive, she noticed, but that was all she allowed herself to think. There was far too much to worry about. The appearance of a boy band member was _not_ one of them.

"Sorry," she repeated, and she pushed past them all, hurrying on her way to her favorite coffee shop. She needed to think, think, think.

Behind her, someone shouted, "You—!" but she was gone before she could hear the rest of it. It was probably just that awful security guard that recognized her from before, scolding her for staying when she said she wouldn't.

.:.

_"So, Skye," Dylan began, "what's this big news you wanted to share?" _

_"Well." The blonde bombshell tucked her hair behind her ear and gave a small smile. "It's not very good news, but it's necessary for my wellbeing. This is going to be my last public appearance for a while. I'm taking some time off to find who I am again." _

_Dylan shared a disappointed look with the camera, the audience gasping in disbelief. "What does this mean?" _

_"I'm afraid I'll be canceling the first couple of months of my tour and my appearance at Times Square this Friday. Everyone will be getting a full refund and those venues I've gotten rid of will have another concert to make up for it. I'm so sorry, but I can't perform for my fans and tell them to be bigger and better people if I'm not feeling like that myself. It would only make me a hypocrite. I hope you understand."_

* * *

NOTE 2: Sorry if it's a little choppy and rushed. It'll get better (I hope).


	2. december 28th pt I

HI EVERYONE

so I wanted this out earlier, but I got distracted by my 1D concerts. just to let everyone know I was an embarrassment and Harry noticed me being said embarrassment and made fun of me. so, yeah.

also, all of y'all should follow me on my various social medias. i'm a hoot. they're on my page if you're interested, which you are, obviously. (oh and my real name is nicole, i'm getting over my weird "i don't want people to know i write things" phase. don't be mad at me. i wish my name was tawni. it was rad.)

ofcccc the briarwood boys are just as famous as one direction lmao I legitimately love the hype they create - it's just so enthralling, ukno? I want to be as famous as them. I want people to scream when they see me :( anyway the scene last chapter was nearly identical to the time I met 1D, which was wild. No worries, I don't hate on anyone's fangirling since I'm probably the worst. Like, I cry. For no reason. I also scream a lot. #hotmess

okay, so, some chapters will be longer than others. some might even be split up. i don't know, i didn't get that far yet, but what i do know is they are based on days, and sometimes some days are more interesting than others. so those will be longer. others might be shorter. like, first chapter was sloppy and choppy and all over the place because massie was sloppy and choppy and all over the place. i literally just made that up. i am SUCH a good bullshitter. holla.

ty for your reviews. your reactions were bomb. the macaroon/macaron thing made me lol

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**OPERATION: SKYE**  
1\. Threaten to spread Skye's darkest secrets  
2\. Get Alicia to find those dark secrets first  
3\. Get Claire to schedule a photo shoot  
4\. Take compromising pictures that would ruin her career  
5\. Have her agree to perform or else Alicia will post them  
6\. Or send them to the tabloids  
7\. Tabloids love that shit  
8\. Kill her mom (?)  
9\. Kidnap her (?)

.:.

**.:. december 28th .:.**

Massie woke to an incessant pounding on her apartment door. A groan escaped her as she stretched and rolled over, hoping the sound would stop if she remained where she was. It did, for a moment, but just as Massie was about to drift off again, the knocking started up, and it was all downhill from there.

She fell out of bed, sheets tangled at her feet, swallowing a yawn. Rubbing the heel of her palm into her right eye, she shuffled down the hall, past her kitchen and through the living room, to the front door. With a peek through the little hole to see who was there, she swung the door open to reveal Alicia.

Her friend stormed past her, dressed to the nines as usual. "What is this?" she demanded, throwing a magazine turned to a particular page at the girl. "Also—where is your coffee? I'm _exhausted_."

Massie didn't answer that question; Alicia was over often enough to know where just about anything was. She squinted at the page before her, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. It was a picture of her, manipulated at some weird angle, outside the Daily Grind studio in yesterday's clothes. The headline read _DERRICK HARRINGTON'S MYSTERY GIRL? _but only because with the way he was holding her, it looked like they were embracing intimately. Massie frowned.

"You're lucky I still have a fondness for _Seventeen _or else there'd be a stampede of angry teens at your door, and you wouldn't know why, Mass," Alicia commented, holding a ceramic mug. "What's worse is you were photographed and put in _this._" The distaste in her voice spread through the room like wildfire.

"You were the one _reading_ it," Massie retorted, tossing the magazine on a nearby table. "No need for the hostility."

"What even is that?" demanded Alicia. She slipped into the kitchen and Massie followed, throwing herself into a chair. "When did you have the time to rendezvous with Low State?"

Massie accepted the cup of coffee she was handed and blew on it. "I don't even know who Derrick Harvington _is_."

"Harrington," Alicia corrected. "He's just the guy that you were photographed with, no biggie."

"Are you a fan?"

"I might have listened to their album on Spotify," Alicia admitted with a coy grin. "I am a big fan of their latest single, though. It's all that's ever on the radio."

"Ugh." Massie rolled her eyes. "I'm so over that song."

"Come on, Mass! It's such a jam!" Alicia started to hum the familiar tune and Massie gulped down some of her coffee, wrinking her nose both at her friend's antics and the amount of sweetener in her drink.

"Don't start singing," Massie begged. "It's too early for you to be singing."

Alicia knitted her eyebrows together and sat, her impromptu dance moves of flailing and spinning coming to a halt. "Fine. Whatever. Let's get back to the issue at hand—what happened yesterday with Skye? She back in?"

"Of course not. Why would anything go my way?" Massie drew her finger around the lip of her cup, sighing deeply. "Her mom's a real bitch _and _she's her manager. They're claiming Skye needs some time to 'better herself' or some shit like that, so she's canceling everything until April."

"That honestly sucks," supplied Alicia. "What are you going to do? Once this gets out…"

Massie didn't even want to think about it. Griffin was counting on her to fix this whole mess and already a day had gone by with absolutely nothing. There were four days until New Year's Eve, something she didn't want to think about either. _Four days_ until she either saved her own ass or lost everything she ever worked for. She wasn't going to let an eighteen year old ruin her career because she "couldn't handle it" or "needed some me time" or whatever bullshit she was spewing at every reporter. Massie was going to get her back. She was going to. She just needed a plan.

"Did you get _anything_ on her?" she demanded.

Alicia scratched at her perfect eyebrow. "No. She's squeaky clean. Obviously—since that's her image, but…"

"But there's gotta be something!" Massie swiftly cut in, sharing a look with her friend. They seemed to be on the same page here. Or they would be, once all of this brainstorming happened. "She didn't _lose herself_"—here, Massie mocked the girl's accented Valley Girl-esque voice—"by staying true to her image."

"No, she didn't." Alicia's red lips tugged down in thought. "Of course there's something, but what is it? If I can't get it…" The unspoken "who can?" hung between them.

They stared at each other for a long while, long enough for what was left of Massie's coffee to grow cold. She stirred the liquid with her finger, determined to keep herself optimistic… like Claire. Their blonde friend wouldn't let something like this deter her; not that she'd ever been in this kind of situation, what with being a photographer and all. But Claire… Claire would turn towards the happier things in life, the things that were unshakable, and even though Claire wouldn't like where Massie's head was going—especially while she was trying to _be_ her—the one unshakable thing in a celebrity was their weak spot. Skye had to have one, and when Massie found out what it was, she was going to push that button. She was going to push, and push, and push until she got what she wanted. Massie Block always got what she wanted.

(Except for that car when she turned sixteen, but whatever, no one's really counting that. Move on, please.)

"She'll be in the city for a while, right?" Alicia said aloud, breaking the silence. Massie looked up, about to respond with a rather crude answer—how the _hell_ was she supposed to know that girl's schedule? It wasn't like she stole it from her mom… which she totally should have, _fuck_—but it seemed like Alicia was talking to herself, sorting through her brain like Massie wasn't even there. "Most celebrities do that. They putz around the city, do their interviews, do the big thing they were supposed to, and then jet off to somewhere else… Skye's probably no different…"

"She'd want to talk to other talk show hosts, too," Massie piped in. "Tell them what's going on."

Alicia nodded. "Just in case her fans don't all watch Dyl's show…" She grabbed her phone again, typing away at the speed of light. Massie watched her, a bit amazed. "There's Letterman, Fallon, GMA, The Today Show… I don't know which ones she'd pick—maybe all? I don't know…" She stopped short, lifting her phone to her ear when it buzzed. "M'busy. Call you back later." And then, back at it, talking at Massie: "She's definitely here for another three days, if she's following the patterns of others before her. She'd leave just before Friday, so Thursday morning or evening, depending…" Alicia pulled up the dial pad on her iPhone's small screen and pressed at her recent calls—"Hey, yeah, sorry I was on a roll. Do me a fav and follow all the Skye Hamilton update accounts. Keep tabs on her at all times. If you find something out, tell me ay-sap… Oh, and don't run the story on Abby Boyd. It's pointless. Thanks."

With a satisfied smirk, Alicia leaned up and looked at Massie. "You should do the same, Mass."

"How do you _do_ that?" the brunette breathed, practically awestruck.

"It's all part of the business," Alicia replied cheekily, "but I'm serious. Get your laptop or your phone and follow every update account. Actually, you don't have to follow them, per se, but keep tabs on them. And speaking of your phone, why didn't you answer me before? I called you eight times and you ignored me each time. The doorman pretended he had no idea who I was. _Rude._"

"My phone?" Massie questioned. "I didn't even hear it ring."

"Of course you did. You sent me to your voicemail _eight times_. I knew you were grouchy in the morning, but I didn't think it was at this level."

"No, I seriously didn't hear it," argued Massie. "It's probably still in my coat. I fell asleep plotting last night. I didn't even charge it."

"I'm actually so disappointed in you," Alicia said. "You know I hate looking silly."

"Yeah, yeah." Massie waved her off. "You need to be knocked down a peg, though. Lemme go get it."

En route to the front door, she dumped her coffee and rinsed her cup, placing it upside down in her sink. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and left the room to pull her peacoat out of the closet, where she'd hurriedly hung it the night before. It slid off the hanger in her craze, a crumpled mess on the floor by her rain boots. Massie hung it properly, searching through the pockets for her cellular device.

Right pocket: no.

Left pocket: no.

She checked the hidden ones on the inside, too. No.

On her hands and knees, she scoured the floor, bumping her hands against the walls. It wasn't there. It also wasn't in those rain boots either; she shook them hard to prove it.

"Alicia…" she started off, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "It's not here."

"I know."

"Where could it be? I'm positive I didn't—wait." Massie shot back, resting on her calves. "You _know_?"

Alicia was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, lips puckered. "Yes."

"How do _you _know where _my_ phone is?"

"Dylan texted me," she replied. "She's with Derrick Harrington."

"Who?" Massie ran her hands through her hair, unable to see the importance in who Dylan spent her time with. Her entire _life_ was in that phone. She didn't have a landline. No one would be able to contact her. She'd lose her job.

The Latina huffed. "Derrick Harrington, from Low State? The guy you bumped into yesterday?"

"Great. Are they a thing? Why does this matter to me?"

"Because he has your phone."

"_He has my phone_?"

"Yes, that's what I just said."

"Why does he have my phone?"

"I don't know. Dyl says… _Tell Mass Derrick Harrington is here. He has her phone._"

"Find out _why_!"

"Okay, okay…" Alicia typed away, her nails making clicking sounds against her screen. "She says when he bumped into you, you dropped it and he tried to get your attention, but you were gone before he could get to you."

Vaguely, Massie remembered this. "And he waited until _now_ to give it to her? Ask her to ask him why he still has it, the little thief."

"I highly doubt he's a thief, Mass." Scoffing at Massie's evil eye, she added, "He's, like, a billionaire. What would he want with your shitty Galaxy?"

"My Galaxy is not shitty!" Massie snapped. "Find out why he still has it!"

"No."

"_No_?"

"You're only going to ask about eighteen more questions after I send her that one. Let's just go down to the studio and pick it up. _Then_ you can ask Derrick Harrington why he kept your phone until this morning."

"Because he's a _thief_, that's why."

"He's not a thief."

"He is."

"Get dressed. I don't think you want to go meet him in your pajamas."

"What if I do? He means nothing to me. He's just a thief." At Alicia's exasperated look: "A _billionaire_ thief."

"I refuse to be seen with you in that getup. Now go."

Massie stood, throwing her hair over her shoulder. "Only because this is my most embarrassing pajama set."

"The fact that it's a pajama set says it all," Alicia quipped.

"There are _elephants _on them. I love elephants."

"_Go_!"

"I don't care what Derrick Harrington thinks of me. I'd go in my other pajamas if I were wearing them."

"That's only because they're hot as hell… and practically see-through!"

"I'm gonna change into them, you bitch!"

Alicia laughed. "All right, settle down there, tiger. I thought you didn't care what Derrick Harrington thought."

"I don't. I'm doing it for me."

"All right…" Alicia snorted. "Hurry up, though—maybe the rest of the band is with him!"

"Why do you care?"

"They're _cute_!" Alicia called back, as if that was a perfectly good reason, and, to be honest, it kind of was.

.:.

So Massie did _not_ end up wearing her slinky, overtly sexual nightie from Victoria's Secret, but she did hurry up—which probably didn't matter at all since the entirety of the subway ride was full of her complaining. As was the short walk to the studio. And the seven minutes—Alicia counted—they spent waiting for Dylan in the lobby. And the fifteen second walk down the stairs, through one of the control rooms, and into the space where The Daily Grind was shot.

It would've started up again, or maybe it did—Massie was talking about phones and thieves and _my job, oh my god, my JOB_—but it stopped completely once a highly amused voice cut through the brunette's anxious, annoying ramble.

This boy was lounging in the seats, long, lean body spread out so he took up about four of them despite the fact that it looked awfully uncomfortable. His head was hanging upside down, taking the three girls in from a terrible angle, though that did nothing to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Mystery Girl!" he greeted enthusiastically, tossing the hair out of his eyes as if to get a better look. Not like it was hindering his view in the slightest. "It's nice to finally meet you… y'know, even though you and D have had a thing since…" He frowned, trying to remember. "A while. According to that magazine."

"It's a real sordid love affair," Massie snapped, her wit unraveling around her. It would've been funny, maybe, if everything wasn't going to shit. And then, maybe, she would've been able to call upon her snappy one-liners… but, alas, life was shit, and it could not be so. Very sad.

Annoying Smirky Boyband Member grinned at her. "Testy."

"Ignore her." Alicia stepped in, smoothing her hair down and (inconspicuously) smacking her lips together, an obvious sign she was interested. _Of course. _"She's not used to this nonsense, and she doesn't have her phone, and I woke her up at the crack of dawn, so. She's practically volatile."

"Just like her phone. It's been ringing nonstop and none of us know how to work it."

"It's a shitty Galaxy," agreed Alicia.

"Oh my _god_, it's not shitty!" Massie defended. "Where is it? Where is your stupid, thieving—"

"Thieving?" Annoying Smirky Boyband Member whispered to Alicia.

"Volatile," she hissed back, clearly preening under his watchful stare.

"I can _hear_ you," Massie snapped, refraining from stomping her foot. She needed her phone. Who knew how many times Griffin called her? Or what if—what if Skye's momager finally came to her senses and felt bad for ruining Massie's life and was going to make her daughter sing?

The amount of calls she missed, the number of voicemails left… it was making her nauseous. Or, more nauseous than she was before.

Dylan, who was keeping out of the conversation, piped in, "The rest of them might be at the food table. I have Danny Robbins coming in to talk about his new movie."

"Where is it?" Massie demanded. "I _need_ my phone."

"I'll take you there. I need to make sure they don't eat all the food anyway," Dylan commented, breezing by Alicia and Annoying Smirky Boyband Member, who were all wrapped up in their own conversation. "They did that yesterday."

Massie was two seconds away from telling her just how much she did not care about them eating all her food and offering to replace whatever they ate today, when she heard her familiar ringtone. Nothing too embarrassing, thank god—not that she cared what these boys—men—what?—she still had no idea how old they were—thought of her and her silly ringtone. Once upon a time, it used to be "Pop" by *NSYNC. Classic.

"Silence it, D. Please. Oh my god."

"I don't know how!"

"_Try_."

"I am trying!"

"Try _harder_."

"No need," Massie said smoothly, surprising herself with how composed she was. She honestly felt like crying and hyperventilating, but Outer Massie would not allow that. It was like an out of body experience. She could see herself stride over to Boyband Member She Bumped Into and take her phone, but it was almost as if it wasn't really her.

They all watched her, interested, as she answered the call. Without checking, she knew it was Griffin.

"Hello?"

"Massie, where have you _been_?"

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed furiously. "I couldn't find my phone," she said. "But it's all good now."

"Make sure you have your phone on you at all times," Griffin warned, "I don't like being left hanging."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry," she babbled, running a hand through her hair. "It was a really long day."

"All right, well. How did yesterday go? Did you get in touch with Skye?"

"Yeah, I did, and about that…"

"You know how important this is, Massie. We need Skye—"

"Yes, I know, but—"

"I hate being interrupted."

"I _know_, but—"

"You have four days. Remember that."

"I need to tell you something about her first," Massie spoke in a rush, words slurring together in her need for him to know. "You see, she's—"

"Is this important?" Griffin cut her off. "Do you have her singing at Times Square again?"

"No, but—"

"Then it doesn't matter to me. I'm very busy right now, seeing as a million and one things have fallen through. Call me when Skye is set, all right?"

He hung up, leaving Massie breathless, with words still tied up on the tip of her tongue. He hadn't let her speak, hadn't let her explain the situation at hand—he never did that before. Never ignored her, never treated her like she was any less than him…

She frowned deeply and loudly, shoving her phone in her pocket and crossing her arms. Dylan looked on. The four boys—men—Boyz II Men—_whatever_—had decided Massie wasn't interesting at all, eating bagels, or donuts, or drinking coffee, or a combination of the three. The blonde one she bumped into kept peeking at her out of the corner of his eye, though.

For a brief moment, Massie watched everyone interact. And by everyone, it was mainly Low State. (That was their name, right?) They did a lot of laughing—the kind that made your face red and gave you wrinkles around your eyes and mouth. They ate a lot, too, but most of the time, it was one of them trying to steal another's donut just to have them give it up in favor of another. The one who stole it found the food useless after that, dropping it back on the table. It was weird. And slightly endearing.

Dylan sidled up to her, silently offering a donut, but Massie declined. "So, what's up?" the redhead asked in that comfortable friendly tone of hers that did not at all sound like she and Massie hadn't really, honest to god spoken for months.

"What isn't?" Massie sighed, scratching at her scalp. "I think my life is ending."

"Ending?" Dylan echoed, raising an eyebrow. "How so? Did your talk with Skye not work out the way you planned?"

"You know how bad my luck is these days." Massie picked at the half-eaten donut in Dylan's hand, chewing on the teeniest bit. "I embarrassed the shit out of myself yesterday."

"What happened?"

"The abridged version? Skye's mom is a bitch."

Dylan opened her mouth to respond, but it was a different, cruder voice that came out of her painted lips. "Skye Hamilton, America's Sweetheart?"

"The very one." Massie rolled her eyes at the thought of the blonde with her buttery ringlets, her blue, blue,_ blue_ eyes, her blinding smile. It was so effin' irritating.

"She's my favorite." The sarcasm in his voice was so palpable along with the snide tone in which he spoke. Massie felt as if he were her soul sister.

"Yeah?" she said. "Same."

Boyband Member She Bumped Into gulped down his coffee in a massive swallow and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Chris used to get pictured with her all the time," he explained. "Publicity things."

"We're not supposed to tell people that," This Chris snapped. It didn't look all that much like he cared. "But yeah. Basically."

"Sorry," Massie said.

"Don't be." He laughed, waving off her (insincere) apology. "I don't know why her management team picked _me_ of all people."

Dylan snorted. Clearly she knew more than Massie did.

"If they were smart, they would've picked Josh," Chris continued on—for Massie's benefit? Maybe. "He's much more of a romantic."

Josh—the one in a football jersey—snorted. "Hardly."

"I'm calling bullshit right now," Chris argued lightheartedly, knocking him in the shoulder. "You're much more a hand holding guy than me."

"Right, sure."

"I had to hold her hand and, like, do touristy shit with her, man." Chris shook his head. "Not me at all."

"And you think I wanna do that?" Josh demanded.

"No, but it makes more sense," Chris responded swiftly, like they'd had this conversation before. "With you, it'd be like, 'Aw, Josh and Skye Spotted in NYC'! But with me it's like 'Is The Low State Player Finally Settling Down?' or 'Skye Hamilton: The Girl That Can Tame Chris Plovert'. Are you _for real_?"

"Wait," Massie interrupted. "Are those real?"

The last one, the silent guy with curls that rivaled Boyband Member She Bumped Into's, laughed loudly. "Yes. I've saved them all. I even have one hanging on my fridge. Look." He scrolled through his phone, gesturing for Massie to look over his shoulder. "How hysterical is this?"

Massie pursed her lips. "Is she wearing a sweater with dolphins on it?"

"Of course she is," he replied. "She loves herself some animal sweaters."

"Paired with skirts and tights. Never forget," Chris added solemnly.

Despite herself, Massie giggled. "I'm sorry?"

"No, no, I had to match her outfit once. I don't wear shit like that at all. Our stylist even knows that."

"You look… very put together," she offered.

"Thanks," he said in monotone.

"Well, now that you know some things about Chris, Josh, and Skye," Boyband Member She Bumped Into captured her attention, "what's the deal with you and her?"

Massie wrinkled her nose; she'd almost forgotten the whole ordeal. "She's canceling the first half of her tour so she can have some me time."

Chris cackled.

"Why?" Josh asked. "Isn't she the happiest person in the world?"

"She's definitely the human embodiment of Disney World," The Silent Curly One agreed, scrolling through what looked like his Twitter feed. He had about a billion and one notifications.

"I don't know, but I'm so mad," Massie told them, even though she'd just met them. Hardly, but still. She had no idea who half of them were, but here she was, and there they were, and it all seemed to come tumbling out. Stress could do so much. "I work for the Times Square Alliance and we're in charge of the Ball Drop this Friday, and she was supposed to perform…"

"But she's backing out?"

"Because of her need for me time, yeah." Massie swallowed, ignoring their gazes. "So I've been following her around. I'm going to blackmail her. Y'know, once I get something to blackmail her with. I made a list."

"A list?" Dylan asked.

"Yes. I need to be completely organized with my blackmail while my life falls apart around me."

Dylan snorted something like "Typical" but kept her mouth shut regardless.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," Boyband Member She Bumped Into muttered.

"Sure. I'll send you an email about it," Massie agreed. He smiled boyishly, cocking his head to the side.

One of them started another conversation, Josh picked up a bagel, Dylan almost yelled at him, and Massie's phone beeped in her pocket.

She pulled it out and unlocked it, just to find it was a Twitter notification. She checked it, uninterested, and exited out of the app before it really hit her. _SHUpdates_ was the name of the account she'd just left. Quickly, it was opened up once more.

The tweet was published about two minutes ago, and was just a picture of Skye Hamilton, her mom, and someone else she couldn't make out with the message _Skye at lunch in NYC! _It had a bunch of retweets and favorites.

Massie bit her lip and shoved the phone in Dylan's face. "What does this look like to you?" she demanded.

Dylan held the device in her hand, squinting. "The Hard Rock Cafe," she said after a beat of scrutinization.

"I have to go. Thanks for bringing back my phone," she said to Boyband Member She Bumped Into, "do you want to eat dinner together later?" she asked Dylan. All of this was in the same breath.

"Yeah, sure," the redhead responded casually. "I'll see if Claire wants to, too?"

"Sure. Ask Leesh. She's still out there with the other guy."

In a whirlwind, Massie was out of the studio and down the block—destination: the Hard Rock Cafe. It was then that she realized she never had the chance to interrogate that guy over her phone.

Oh, well. Real life calls.

.:.

The Hard Rock Cafe was swamped with fans. Or people who looked like fans. Most of them were wearing Skye's latest tour shirt. And crying. Or both. It was gross.

Massie didn't feel all that bad about shoving past them, not even when she accidentally elbowed a smaller girl right in the face. (Okay, maybe she felt a bit guilty about that one, but.) She marched towards the front of the mob where two burly security guards—Skye's, no doubt—stood, muscled arms crossed over their chests.

She smiled her best smile at them, trying to summon her inner Alicia-esque vixen. Neither of them blinked an eyelash. She frowned.

"Hi," she said, steeling herself.

Nothing.

She waved her Times Square Alliance ID. It normally worked in cases like this, allowing her access to all the things that other people could not get into. Her job had some perks; this was not one of them.

The guards glanced at her swaying hand, then faced the crowd once more.

Massie sighed. Did Skye, like, _buy out_ the restaurant? Why were they standing here? "Can I get through?"

"Do you have a reservation?"

_Did she need one here? _

"Uh, no."

"Then I'm afraid you can't."

"What? Why?"

"Miss Hamilton wants some time to herself. She will see fans after she's done dining," the bigger of the two stated gruffly. "Please step back."

"I'm not a _fan_," Massie snapped, giving them her coolest glare. "We hired her for a job and I need to speak with her about it."

They looked at each other. "Is she expecting you?"

"N—" Massie paused. "Maybe. She might've forgotten. We made these plans forever ago."

One of the guards certainly looked sold, but the other wanted more information. Massie wished they could've been hired on brawn alone; they didn't need to be overly smart, just capable of saving Skye if need be.

"What's your name? I can call her up."

"Massie Block," she said. She instantly regretted it. She should've given a fake one.

With a swift nod, the man stepped aside and quickly dialed a number. The other watched both Massie and the crowd. If she hadn't been so apprehensive about his size and muscle, she might've made a run for it.

She could, probably, but only if she set her mind to it. He was big, this guy, no doubt about it. He didn't look _fast_, though, and if Massie could out run him…

But it was too late. She took too much time deliberating and now the other guard was back, and he didn't look pleased.

"Her manager says they are not expecting you and they never made plans with you," he told her icily. "She also says she spoke to your people already and she would like for you to leave her and her daughter alone. Now, if you would please go—others have been waiting much longer than you."

Massie gritted her teeth together and stormed off, feeling humiliated and angered all at the same time. This girl was _eighteen _and she was single-handedly throwing Massie to the dogs time and time again. Griffin was going to fire her without a second thought once he found out Skye was not going to grace that stage in Times Square. She wouldn't be able to pay her rent, she'd be forced out on the streets, she'd starve…

It was all so dreadful to think about that Massie wrapped her arms around her body and waited in that horrible mob of people for the next two hours.

At one point, they all started singing Skye's newest single, and then her first, and then her entire album. Massie felt a headache coming on. With no medication to ease the pain, she rubbed her temples and sighed, counting to a hundred and back while these girls sang in the worst, most off-key voices she'd ever heard.

Skye never came back out.

* * *

I made up the ID thing, so don't call me out on it. The next chapter _might_ be a continuation of this day, it might not. I'm not positive.


	3. december 28th pt II

hello i have returned on a very special day. today is my birthday. i am now officially 20. it is astounding. i feel old. anyway, happy birthday to me happy birthday to you here is an update.

your reviews are great and i want to reply to them all but once i get started i won't stop and i'd probably send you pictures of one direction and cry and then recount my concerts with you all - but! if you're going soon HAVE SO MUCH FUN I LOVED IT I LOVE ONE DIRECTION

(i bought their school supplies and i am using them. i am a junior in college. the COOLEST junior in college xo)

WELL here you go - this is the most exciting chapter yet.

* * *

**.:. december 28th .:.  
**_part II_

Massie wrapped herself in a blanket cocoon, staring blankly at the TV across from her. She'd stomped her way home hours ago—literally stomped—but the time since then had done nothing to ease her disappointment. Read: pain.

It was getting easier for her to admit defeat, though. Skye was getting more and more elusive, her mother bitchier. They really didn't want to help her at all, so much so that they were treating her like a fan. Massie had no idea how they treated Skye's fans normally, but the fact that she slipped out the back of the restaurant only added insult to injury. They'd given those girls so much hope and then took it away from them—for what? Skye might have been going on hiatus for a while, but that didn't mean she had leave her fans high and dry.

And also Massie, who only wanted to save her job. She didn't even _like_ Skye's music. It was very teeny-bopper.

She sighed. The program continued on in front of her without her knowledge until the credits were rolling and Massie was left confused. She wasn't even sure what happened and found herself upset she let herself become consumed with thoughts of her job, and Skye, and Skye ruining her life. And Skye's music. "Broken Crown" was stuck in her head, the bridge on a loop. It played over and over in Skye's falsetto. Massie wanted to die.

About to change Operation: Skye to Operation: Die, the buzzer rang, echoing through her apartment. Massie frowned, hopping up and hobbling over to keep her cocoon in tact and let whoever it was in. It was probably Alicia, or Dylan, or Claire, really. Any one of her friends. They had plans for dinner in about an hour.

She unlocked the door and waddled away, suddenly thirsty. Water would be nice. Or, like, eight shots of tequila so she could drop to the floor and stay there forever. Maybe that's what was happening right now. Maybe she blacked out two days ago and was having a very vivid nightmare, or a terrible reaction to the alcohol. Maybe she'd wake up and New Year's Eve had already passed… It was such a nice thought.

"Why do you look like you're headed to the Arctic?" Alicia demanded. The smell of her perfume surrounded Massie much like the blankets she was wrapped in, filling the room until all she could smell was the chocolate and vanilla notes.

"I'm hoping I suffocate soon," the brunette replied, turning in a circle to face her. "It's not working."

"You're not doing it right, that's why. You gotta cover your face," Alicia explained, as if this were totally normal.

Massie frowned. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"That" meaning skintight jeans, a sort of fancy, sort of slutty crop top, and some killer heels that brought Alicia to an even more towering—and imposing—height.

"I got a call from Kori that Kristen left a message about Skye making reservations for dinner at her club."

"Kristen owns a _nightclub_. Skye is _eighteen_."

"I _know._" Alicia nodded enthusiastically. "I think we've got our blackmail, Mass."

"How so?"

"She's going to Kristen's club. Probably without her mother. And if she wants to get in there, she either has a killer ID—which won't work because she's famous—or she's paying some serious money to get in."

"Won't Kristen get in trouble?"

"It's not like she's the one physically accepting the money, if that's what's happening. I'm sure it's the bouncer she's paying off."

Massie's lips pressed into a line. "And?"

"_Aaaaand_," Alicia started, "Kristen—I told her everything earlier—put us on the guest list. We're set for dinner in two hours and can follow Skye's every move."

The other, shorter girl freed her head from the blankets, feeling very, very hot. "So… you're saying we're literally going to spy on Skye Hamilton, famous singer, who currently hates me?"

Alicia clapped her hands together in excitement. "She'll be without her body guards, though, I'm sure of it. None of them will want to willingly go with her to do whatever this is because she's not allowed to. You can corner her, get her to sing, and save your job—and your sanity!"

"Does she have a history of sneaking off like this, though?" Massie scratched her nose. "Like, do you know anything about her going to nightclubs for dinner?"

"No. Like I said before, she's clean. So fuckin' clean. Whoever does her image and PR stuff is insanely good at their job." Alicia flipped her silky hair over her shoulder, giving Massie one of those patented looks of hers, like the next words out of her mouth were about to be so legendary Massie needed to be ready. "If we catch her doing something she shouldn't be, and we document it…"

"We can use it against her," breathed Massie. "She won't have anyone to speak for her. She'll have to make the decision herself. If we all gang up on her… she won't be able to say no."

"This is _so_ exciting," Alicia said, "and I love Kristen's club. We never have to pay for anything."

"Only sometimes. We pay half usually."

Alicia waved her off, muttering something about technicalities and Massie always ruining the fun. "You need to get ready. You need to not look like you're preparing to live in an igloo."

"Okay. Yeah."

Massie nodded, still overheating. She dropped the blankets to the floor, pressing her hands to her face. Her skin was so hot it was like she had a fever, not like she was giddy and actually hopeful, and that made sense; she _had_ to be sick for this to sound like a perfect plan. Despite all of their stellar personalities and traits, the four of them were definitely not cut out for this level of stalking. Watching a boy's every move when they were in high school? Yeah. Memorizing that cute boy's schedule in college so one of them would bump into him at the perfect time? Definitely. Following a celebrity to see what weird, possibly illegal thing they might do? That was a job for the paparazzi, not any of them. Sure, Claire was a well-known photographer, but she got nervous under pressure. Dylan was a talk show host with excellent people skills, but she was too noticeable, _and_ she was clumsy. Alicia could spot anything gossip-worthy happening in a ten mile radius, but most of the time she was on her phone or watching attractive men do something trivial; she was easily distracted. And Massie was Massie, good at organizing and bossing people around. She wasn't capable of keeping herself in check. She'd mess it up somehow.

Kristen was the level-headed one. She always knew what to do. If there was a plan, she'd stick to it and get results, but she was hardly around. Her nightclubs were popping up everywhere, a very exclusive chain in only the most important places in the United States. For now. It was a surprise she was even in New York to notice Skye's name on the guest list.

But this could be what she needed. Even though it had every chance to fail, it could work. The odds that it would were so small, but they were enough to have Massie believe in them. _Something_ good had to happen to her eventually, right? Why not this?

She took a deep breath, let the optimism swim through her bloodstream and fill her until she was lightheaded, and asked, "What should I wear? What is everyone else wearing?"

.:.

The thing about the club being Kristen's was that the girls could be ushered in without having to wait on any sort of line. Reservations had to be made weeks, sometimes even months, in advance unless you were some sort of A-List celebrity, which Skye Hamilton was, and the four of them were not. But Kristen was an old friend going back years in the past when they would rate outfits and one-up everyone else to feel better about themselves, and that, in itself, was enough.

K, as it was named, was the place to see and be seen, which explained the number of paparazzi standing outside its doors. They all knew Dylan and also Alicia, as she was being interviewed left and right about her website these days, and the cameras went wild. Claire and Massie left them, hands linked, and slipped into the restaurant on the side. If Skye had made it in already (she did; her reservation, according to Kristen, was at 7:30 and it was now 8) she had to have gone through some sort of back door.

The pair was escorted to their seats, a table similar to that of the one they held court in during their old school days. It was in the very back, facing the front door and every other table so they would have a clear view of who was coming and going. And just like they planned, Massie took the seat with her back to the wall and Claire took the one opposite her. All the blonde would be able to see was Massie and her own reflection in the glimmering paint behind her.

"Is she here?" hissed Claire out of the corner of her mouth.

Massie rolled her eyes and lifted her menu. It was so loud in the place she had no idea why Claire was talking so low, but really, knowing her, she'd end up shouting instead and that was _not_ what she wanted. "Yes."

"Where?"

"My left, your right," she spoke at a normal volume, switching between watching the pop star and reading the appetizers. "Farthest table next to the kitchens."

Waiting a beat, Claire craned her neck and peered about, like she was looking towards the front for Alicia and Dylan. It was easy enough for Massie to notice she was not. After she had confirmation that Skye was in fact there, Claire nodded and fixed herself in her seat once more.

"She's halfway through her dinner," Massie added. Then, quickly: "Do we want to start with an appetizer? Where are Leesh and Dyl?"

Claire coughed. "Nah, I always fill up on the appetizer and never eat the actual food."

"Okay," said Massie. "I want chicken."

"I'll probably get fish."

"The salmon's really good here."

"I've heard. I mean to get it but I never do."

The small cluster of people standing by them finally found their table or whatever they were looking for and dispersed about halfway through Massie and Claire's useless chatter. Once gone, Massie continued to keep an eye on Skye.

.:.

About twenty minutes later, Alicia and Dylan slid into their seats, fake smiles falling from their lips.

.:.

They ordered.

.:.

"Skye just got dessert," Massie announced.

Alicia dapped her mouth with a napkin.

Dylan fussed with her hair, chewing on a tomato.

Claire sat up straighter, dropping her fork to her plate.

A beat later, Dylan asked, "What is it?"

"Pie," Alicia answered instead of Massie.

.:.

Massie watched Skye get up, cheerfully thank the waiter for something. She asked a question, he pointed, and she smiled. She waited for him to disappear before she looked around and walked over to the nightclub entrance.

It was nine thirty. The bouncer took Skye's hand carefully, drew on it, and then, at the last second, winked.

"Man," Massie spoke, leaning back. "I am _stuffed_."

(Her meal was hardly touched.)

"Same," Alicia agreed. "Should we order anything else?"

"I don't want anything," Claire said, "and I've got to use the restroom, so—pay for me if the check comes?" She tossed a bunch of bills on the table and stood, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Yeah, no prob." Dylan reached over and took the money.

"Thanks." Claire turned and left, walking right past the doors leading to the bathrooms, and following in Skye's footsteps.

Her friends pretended like they didn't notice, but they were watching out of the corner of their eyes. The bouncer did not treat Claire the exact same way he treated Skye, and he scrutinized her and her driver's license. This sort of thing happened all the time—she still didn't look old enough, but she was, and most people gave her shit for it. Two long minutes passed before she was allowed through, nothing drawn on her hand.

.:.

The check came. They paid.

.:.

Alicia popped two of the mints that came with their bill.

.:.

**Claire [9:45]**: SH just left bathroom. Scrubbed X off hand. Go time.

.:.

"Remember," Alicia said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. It caught the light as it did so. A boy they passed by seemed mesmerized by it. Or her. Both, probably. "A picture is worth a thousand words. Do your worst, chickadees."

.:.

"I'm gonna get a drink, do you want anything?"

"No, I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, do you see Skye anywhere?"

Dylan popped up on her tiptoes and surveyed the scene. "No… but I'm sure she'll be around. No one spends that much time getting rid of that 'X' to just split like that."

"All right." Massie sighed. "Go get your drink. I'll be right here."

.:.

Dylan did not come back.

Massie lost sight of Claire.

Alicia had disappeared earlier, claiming it would be easier and less sketchy if they weren't all together, searching the place.

She was alone, and Skye was nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

.:.

Some time had passed since she was completely abandoned and left utterly hopeless. How much she was not sure of, but Massie found herself once again succumbing to the devastation that was her life. It was fairly easy to do so. Probably because this day was full of negativity, as was the day before. The plan had been solid and well thought out, but it could have been better. Really. They were just going with the flow here and the tip from Kristen was nice. It really was. Besides, Massie knew going into this it wouldn't work. Too many factors were slotted against her. They were just twenty-somethings trying to make a good situation out of a bad one.

She shouldn't have let herself get her hopes up.

In reality, Friday would come. It was always coming, a daunting thought that created a ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. It was coming faster than need be, too, but only because she didn't want it to come at all. And when it did get here—at the speed of light—she'd have to face Griffin and tell him everything. He didn't want to hear it now, but when Skye Hamilton did _not_ perform, he would know, and he would point the finger at her when it was time to fire someone. It was the ultimate humiliation, knowing she couldn't have saved herself even if she tried, and she was trying, my god, she _was_. It didn't matter that celebrities thought only of themselves. It didn't matter that she stood in the cold a number of times to try to get a peek of Skye. It didn't matter that she was currently dressed in the tiniest of tiny dresses in the back of her closet, trying to spot Skye doing something so out of character so she could use it as blackmail. It didn't matter that what she was doing was horrifying and disgusting and everything she hated about herself. It didn't matter that she was willing to go to these lengths to embarrass an eighteen year old girl—because that was still who Skye was, beneath the glamour and the sparkle and the screaming fans. It didn't matter that she was despicable. All that mattered was—

Skye.

SKYE.

All that mattered was Skye. And there she was. Suddenly, Massie's pity party came to a screeching halt.

She moved forward, obscuring her view by a plant. Despite the large, green leaves in her way—and, of course, the bar, bartender, various alcohols, and patrons—she could see it all. And _boy_, was it good.

Why had she been so down before? This plan was _foolproof_. She'd just snap a couple pictures, find out where Skye was staying for the night, rent a room if she had to, and attack her in the morning. She'd have to give in after this. _Had to_.

"Mystery Girl," came a voice to her left, conveniently hushed and not at all judgmental (except he was), "why are you hiding behind a fern?"

"Fern?" Massie did a double take. "I thought it was some tree."

"It's definitely a fern," he said. "And you're hiding behind it."

"You know a lot about plants."

"You have no idea my vast knowledge of plants," he countered. "All I did was tell you about a fern."

"Well," she began, eyes still trained on Skye. "That's more than I know."

"Here's the thing, though: I don't know why you're behind this fern."

"I'm spying, if you must know," Massie told him, though she wasn't sure why. "You're getting in my way."

Boyband Member She Bumped Into quirked an eyebrow, resting his head on his open palm. "I'd say that's the fern, actually."

"Why are you here?" she asked, sparing him a glance. Her stomach did this weird flipping thing and she felt her cheeks heat up when their eyes locked. Almost as quickly as she turned her head, she resumed her previous stance, taking slow, inconspicuous breaths to calm herself. Famous people were unnecessary. They were going to giving her a heart attack. Or a coronary. Or a conniption. Or make her unemployed. They were very unreliable. Get them _away_. "Do you have something else to steal from me?"

He snorted. "Yeah. I want your dress. Hand it over."

"Absolutely not."

"I don't actually _want_ it," he retorted. "You're really into this whole spying thing, aren't you? What are you even looking at?"

"Skye," Massie answered, "now shut up and let me _live_."

Boyband Member She Bumped Into—Derrick, actually, she remembered his name being (though it wasn't as fun)—followed her gaze. "What is she doing?" He didn't sound too surprised, though. Maybe this was typical in Famous People Land.

"Um, getting drunk?" Massie said. She pressed her thumb down on her phone so many times she was sure she had the same shot of Skye about twenty thousand times. "Actually… that's her fifth shot in the past—how long have we been talking?"

"Three minutes. Give or take."

"Right, so I'd say seven minutes, then. Fifth shot in seven minutes. She's really planning on dying tonight, isn't she?"

"No, I think her plan is to get really drunk."

"It's a _phrase_. It means the same thing." Massie pursed her lips, looking over at him again. This time, she was prepared for the weird feeling that took over her body, but she refused to give in. Famous people made her so antsy these days. "Why are you here again?"

"Am I not allowed to go out and enjoy myself?" Derrick asked.

"Is the rest of the gang here?"

"Yeah. Lost most of them, though." He shrugged like it didn't really matter. "Saw you when I walked in. You're very interesting."

"I am _not_. Now, where is Alicia… I need to show her these and plan our next move…"

Derrick jutted his head over to the other side of the bar. "Right there. With Cam."

"_Who the hell is_—oh. The annoying smirky one."

"The annoying smirky one?" He sounded too amused for his own good.

"I didn't really know any of your names this morning, so." She watched Alicia and Cam interact for a moment before turning her attention back to Derrick. "I made them up."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What's mine?" he asked.

"Boyband Member I Bumped Into, or BMIBI for short," said Massie, scratching her nose in a way to get him to stop staring so intensely at her face.

"That's a mouthful," he teased. "I think Derrick would suffice."

She smiled. "Nah, I don't think so."

"So… should I call you Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things?"

Massie deliberated for a moment, head tilting to the side. "Yes," she said presently, "that sounds about right."

"Your actual name would be easier…" he prompted.

"Would it?" She looked over to where Skye was, only to see she was gone. For some reason, Massie didn't feel too crazed about it. "What if Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things is my actual name?"

"Then I'd have to speak to your parents because that's gotta be some form of child abuse."

"_Or _they have the ability to see into the future and they knew I'd bump into you and you'd steal my things."

"I didn't steal any of your things. I picked up your phone when you dropped it."

"Tomayto, tomahto."

"That's definitely not how it works."

"It is in my world."

"In what world do you live in?"

"This one."

Derrick rolled his eyes—something Massie found he did a lot in her presence—and leaned forward. He was much too close now, so much in fact that she could smell his cologne and count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. This was not ideal. Where were the security guards when you needed them? "Just tell me your name, Crazy Girl."

"You already know it. Cra—" She broke off at the look he gave her. She matched it as best she could despite the clammy feeling clinging to her palms. He smirked at her, something he probably did to get his way more often than not, but it didn't work on her. It didn't. Really. She was immune to it. It did not make his already attractive face even more attractive. It did not interest her in the slightest. She did not wipe her hands on her thighs. She told him her name only because she felt he deserved to know. He did. Yes. "It's Massie."

"Massie," he said, testing it out. Surprisingly enough, he pronounced it right; everyone always called her Maisie the first time. "You know what? I think I'm gonna call you Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things—it suits you better."

She swatted his shoulder, which made him laugh, and retorted, "Well, I'm gonna call you Derrick. Emphasis on the _ick_."

"Wow, that hurts, Massie."

"It should. I thought long and hard about that insult."

"I'd applaud you, but I only like applause when it's directed towards me."

"_Oh my god_."

He grinned real big then, his nose wrinkling in the process. "I can buy you a drink though. That's kind of the same thing, right?"

"I have to remain vigilant."

"Skye's gone," Derrick said. "She's been gone. You noticed that before."

Massie frowned at him. How did he know that?

"Besides you have your scary blackmail. I think you could spare five minutes, yeah?"

She wanted to say no. She wanted to leave now and get back to her apartment and her pajamas and prepare herself for the next day. She wasn't here to have a good time, she was here to save her job. She couldn't accept a drink from him. Who knew what would happen after that one? She was the only one who was taking this seriously, the only one with a level head. Her friends were missing even though they _promised_ to help her out.

She should say no, but she didn't. "I guess" came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It wasn't exactly yes, but it was definitely not no, and she plopped herself down next to Derrick, phone locked in front of her.

If he was surprised she agreed, he didn't show it. "Are you one of those girls who swears by cranberry vodkas?"

"Do I look like I swear by cranberry vodkas?"

Derrick appraised her thoughtfully, as if there were some sort of sign or trait that could be seen on a person who did so. Maybe there was.

"No," he said, "what would you like then?"

"Sex on the Beach."

"Well, we all want _that_," Derrick countered, waving the bartender down all the same, "but I'm afraid there is no beach here and I like to be wined and dined before I am bedded, Massie."

"I'm ten seconds away from punching you in the face," she remarked.

"Why not four?" another voice piped in. "Or, better yet, one? You should punch him now. Time is of the essence."

"_Josh_," Derrick warned. "My face is the moneymaker."

"It's actually my vocals. I sound like an angel."

"Yeah, _after_ auto tune."

Josh gasped theatrically. "Punch him! Punch him or I will!"

"Can I get my drink first?"

.:.

No fighting occurred, but one drink soon turned into two, then three, then four—and then Massie lost count. Famous Derrick Harrington would not let her pay for any of them, which was annoying, and also a little endearing, and she liked to pretend she didn't find him sweet and good-looking.

And find him good-looking she did. The more drinks she had the easier it was for her to admit it. Not to him, of course, because that was embarrassing and he already knew. There were tons of girls throwing themselves at him on a daily basis and it totally wasn't because they wanted him to sing them to sleep. Or maybe they did. It could be a nice thing, maybe. Massie never really paid attention to who sang what in that song that was always on the radio, but if he was really good—

Now she was getting off-topic in her own head and that only meant one thing: She was getting drunk. That was never the plan.

"…okay, so listen," Derrick was saying when she came back to reality. He was telling her all about the weird things that happened to him and the rest of the band in the past, but only because she flat out asked what it was like to be as famous as he was. "I was with Cam—you know, the smirky one—and we can normally get away with doing things if we're not all together, so we thought we'd go, like, shopping for shoes or something and the next thing I know we're trapped in a store for three hours. I had zero idea Cam and I were the fan favorites at the time."

Massie wrinkled her nose. "Aren't you the fan favorite always?" she asked.

"I guess. I always thought they liked us equally."

"Nah, never works that way," the girl replied, taking the last sip of her drink and frowning when it was gone. It was replaced with another fairly quickly. "Like. You must do something that gets everyone crazy. I don't know. You probably have the attitude."

"What's my attitude?"

"I don't know, I just met you."

"True." He leaned back and stretched, long arms pulled taut. Massie didn't like the amount of time she spent staring.

Thankfully he didn't seem to notice nor did they start another conversation, for Alicia moseyed on by, taking a seat on his left. "Hello, friends!"

"Hello," Massie said apprehensively. Alicia looked ten times better than her—that was always the case—though she didn't know why she acknowledged this. Or why it bothered her.

"I just came by to tell you that I didn't completely forget our plan," she continued on. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, indicating alcohol consumption, but she still talked like she was a hundred percent sober. She only acted friendlier than usual. "And I have some marvelous shots of Skye puking the bathroom. Would you like to see?"

"Ew, no, get outta here." Derrick shoved his palm over her iPhone—his hand was so big, oh my god—to keep her from accessing those pictures. "You guys are literally insane."

"Uh, yeah," Massie agreed. "Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into You And Thinks—"

"Yes, yes, I _know_." Derrick tilted his head back, downing the rather large remainder of his drink. "I just don't understand why you haven't asked yet," he added, licking his lips.

Massie looked from Alicia to him. "Asked what?"

"For us to do it."

"…Do what?"

"Perform." He sent her an odd look. "Y'know. On Friday. Instead of Skye."

Alicia's lips puckered into a perfect circle. "Progress!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up. "You talk about that, 'kay? 'Kay. I gotta go beat Cam in pool."

"Send me those pictures!" Massie called at her retreating back. Alicia gave a half-assed sort of wave.

She watched for a second or two as Annoying Smirky One tossed Alicia a stick and she prepared herself. It looked like he was going to break instead of her. Massie wasn't even sure if Alicia knew how to play this game and she wasn't about to find out, so she turned away.

Derrick was staring at her in that way of his that made her uncomfortable. Massie wished she hadn't turned her attention away from the game across the room; she felt itchy underneath this gaze. It was burning. It was revealing.

"So," he said, though, his voice light, "why haven't you?"

"It never crossed my mind actually," she responded. "Was it supposed to?"

"I dunno. Maybe." Derrick lifted his shoulders. "I've seen a lot of you in the past two days. It could be fate or something."

Massie fought the urge to laugh but failed drastically. In between her giggles, she asked, "You believe in that?"

"Maybe not fate," Derrick said. "But I believe in something."

"Yeah, well… we booked Skye and Skye's what Griffin wants. What everyone wants. And I'm not going to ask you to go out of your way for a person you just met."

"Okay. Fair enough." Derrick beckoned for the girl behind the counter to come back—Allie-Rose, her name was—and this time he ordered shots with this charming smile on his face. She blushed, but did as she was asked. Derrick handed one to Massie, gestured for her to wait, and said, "We'd do it, I think. If you wanted us to."

He took the shot. Massie held hers between her thumb and index finger, skin sticky.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I think you're interesting," he said again, like those four words explained it all. He scooted closer to her, his legs opening so her knees were pressing into his inner thighs. "Like, you don't care about me—us—at all. No starry-eyed thing going on whenever we're around. Your job means a lot to you and you're literally stalking a pop star to make sure you keep it, which is hysterical, and you're really pretty."

Massie frowned, throat dry and lips chapped. "You and your band would play Times Square because you think I'm pretty?"

"_Really_ pretty," he corrected. "Are you going to drink that?"

"I…" She stared at the shot glass, still full of whatever it was he ordered. "I don't know."

"Okay." He wriggled it from her grasp and placed it on the counter. "Maybe later."

The next thing happened really fast, or maybe it happened really slowly; Massie was unsure. Everything was fogging up in her mind. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. This famous boy offered to fix her problem and called her really pretty and interesting and all that—and she had no time to register this properly, no time at all, because soon, she was tasting his mouth, and his hands were hot against her face, and she was half out of her seat, knees really digging into his legs now.

.:.

The next morning found Massie in an unfamiliar (but very comfortable) bed, in an unfamiliar hotel room, with Derrick Harrington's naked back as her only company. She wanted to scream.


	4. december 29th

this is my last night as a free woman (aka i'm going to move back into college tomorrow morning pray 4 me i already cried 3 times trying to pack my car why do i have so many things) and i decided to give you this! it's another two parter even though it doesn't have to be, but i'm sort of attached to this and i want to make it longer than necessary. whoops.

here is me responding to your reviews: MOST OF THEM ARE SO LONG I LOVE THEM KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK 10/10 YES

no worries i got a lot of 1d things. i am not ashamed. i even got their new calendar. i am SET. and ofc i saw niall's ice bucket challenge it was clearly a present for me. the other ones sucked in comparison. also where is zayn? i want to see him wet. that sounded worse than i thought it did. i'm not erasing it. if curious about concerts (i will keep this short and sweet): i went to two this summer and i danced a lot at both of them and a lot of mothers/small children hated me but whatever i had more fun than you. and i went to one drunk which was even better and harry made fun of my dancing but i flail or whatever. but you know what? he's lame.

i need to stop talking about one direction i am so sorry

kk here's this! i am so tired.

warning: massie says oh my god a lot. and derrick's like weird for a super famous person. why did i do this to him? and chris is such a bitch i might want to marry him.

double warning: i made up lyrics for songs haha i am so not cut out to be a songwriter.. also skye reminds me of ariana grande like singing wise even though she's totes taylor swift? also is low state one direction or 5sos i don't know. who are these people. massie is me though. derrick is niall. i need to sleep. why am i still writing this author's note

* * *

**.:. december 29th .:.**

oh my god _oh my god _OH MY GOD _OH MY GOD_

Massie was positive she was about to explode—or her heart was going to break right through her ribcage and out of her body, beating hard and loud, escaping to some far off location because it couldn't handle her. She covered her face with her hands, breathing slowly and deeply, but found that only made her want to throw up even more. She pressed down on her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth (which was kind of sore), hoping, for the second time, she would suffocate and die. She didn't need to check to her body for clothes; the sheets were nice and silky against her very extremely totally absolutely one hundred percent naked body.

Did she mention she wanted to die?

How could she let this happen? What time was it? Where was she? Why—

She remembered bits and pieces, but she was positive she hadn't been drunk enough to black out. Like. The fern. And the pictures of Skye puking? _Why_? And. And. Derrick offering for Low State to perform. That one shot she didn't take. He kissed her. Or she kissed him? There was a lot of kissing. But this? Here? She had plans, goddammit. She had a pop star to blackmail. She had to make Skye _cry_. She needed her to agree to the Times Square show. She couldn't be _here_.

Worst of all, she couldn't just leave. She had no idea where she was. Or where her clothes were. Or what would happen once she left this room. What was on the other side of the door? Was the rest of the band here? _Oh my god._

And the next thing she knew, Derrick was shifting, and that broke through her panicked thoughts. She tried to compose herself, adjust her face into one of utter coolness, like this happened _all the time_, but she wasn't sure she succeeded. She still felt like she wanted to throw up.

Derrick didn't seem to notice it, though, but that was mainly because he was yawning as he flipped to face her. Massie bit down on her cheek and stared up at the ceiling. It was painted white. It was rather nice.

"You know," he said sleepily, resting his forehead against her shoulder. Why was he so cuddly? Oh my god. "I think we could find a way to rearrange Broken Crown to have a five part harmony. Josh has a killer falsetto."

Massie was so taken aback by the mere fact that someone could sound so good right after waking up that she didn't answer fast enough for him.

And instead of him asking her what was up, he opened his mouth and out came: "_…this crown may be broken but it still fits like a glove… you'll never knock me down—no, you'll never knock me down…_"

"What?" Massie choked on her own tongue, giggles and all.

"I'm singing," Derrick answered. "Do I sound like Skye?"

"You sound like you're whining," she countered. His singing voice did sound nice though, maybe a little scratchy and rough due to just waking up, but… no complaints.

"Wow, rude. I should kick you out."

"You'd have to literally throw me out of that window," Massie shot back, which confused the hell out of her, because she was sure her feet were shaking. "I'm comfy."

"Mm," he agreed, furthering this point by nuzzling his head into the crook between her neck and shoulder. His nose grazed by her collarbone and sent a shot of heat down her spine. She gritted her teeth. "Did I do that?"

Massie frowned. "Do what?"

Derrick hoisted himself up and prodded at her skin with his fingers. "This."

His touch was oddly ticklish and Massie swatted his hand away. He frowned, lips falling into a pout, and did it again, just to get the same response.

"I don't like that," he said.

"I don't like _you._"

"Hmm…" He quirked an eyebrow, let his gaze travel down the length of her body, despite it being covered with blankets, and grinned. "Looks like it."

"Go awaaaaaay." Massie shoved at his exposed chest, silently marveling over the muscle tone there, but he slid back only a little bit.

Derrick shot her a look pushed her back lightly, pressing her deeper into the mattress. She fought back, kicking her legs out, and he twisted his body out of the way. The sheets wrapped around him shifted downwards, barely clinging to him now, and Massie could see all of him if she dared, which she wasn't sure she did. But this change seemed to reflect in him, too, for his eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he gazed down at her, sitting back on his haunches.

Then he was kissing her, like this was something they did often, like they hadn't just met _yesterday_, and Massie was surprised at how quickly she responded. His lips were like fire, even if they were just connected to hers, and his hands were something else, controlling yet gentle, dominant yet unsure—and she liked the way he kept her down, liked feeling so out of her element in this way. It arched her back, and had her biting down on his lower lip, and he shuffled closer, and her senses were going into overdrive, and they were _so close_—

And then—

"Are you two ever not attached by the mouth?"

"_Kemp_," Derrick growled. "_Go away_."

"Nah, not this time," came Kemp's voice. "Management wants to kick your ass for being so stupid last night. Hey, Massie."

"Hi," she croaked, eyes shut. If she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her… right? Well, anyway, Derrick's body was still on top of hers so it didn't matter much.

"Cam did the _same thing_," Derrick argued.

"Yeah, but he wasn't stupid about it!" Kemp snapped. "He didn't even touch her at the club. He waited until _after_. Whereas you… you… I've never seen you like that before."

Derrick retaliated with a rather impressive "So?"

"What's gotten into, man? You know what they said—"

"Drop it, Kemp," Derrick said. "I'll talk to them. Are they here?"

"Of course not." Kemp scoffed. "They called and gave me an earful. Apparently there's some shit in the tabloids already."

"Fine." Derrick sighed. "I'll call them back."

"I hope they don't kill you. My ears are still ringing." Kemp was silent for a moment, then two, then three, then four. "As you were," he finally said, door shutting behind him.

But they did not continue where they left off. Massie opened her eyes in time for Derrick to kiss her again, this time lighter and ten times more chaste. Deflating completely, he curled up on her like a cat, head resting just below her chin.

Caught of guard, Massie mumbled, "Uh… you okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed, "just don't move."

"I can't," she said. "You're on top of me."

He chuckled lightly, curling his fingers around the side of her stomach. He hummed to himself, breathing slowly. Massie fought the urge to run her fingers through his hair until it felt like she wasn't doing enough to help him. Did he need help? She wasn't sure of that or even of what was going on, but her hands had a mind of their own and soon she was playing with his matted golden curls.

They stayed like that for so long Massie nearly forgot about Skye.

.:.

But she remembered eventually.

.:.

"She's staying at the Solomon," said Alicia on the phone, "which is where Low State is staying. Which is where you are."

"You were here, too," Massie shot back in a hushed sort of voice. She could hear Derrick's aggravation through the walls as he spoke to his PR team or whatever.

There was a pause as Alicia rolled her eyes. Massie could practically hear it happening. "Yeah, but _I_ left. I also didn't fuck Derrick Harrington of Low State either, so."

"What did you do with Cam, then?" Massie hissed. "Did you play more pool?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Alicia responded airily, "but he is a very generous lover."

"Gross. I didn't need to know that—hey, how do you know about me and"—she mumbled this part very fast—"Derrick?"

"You're very loud."

"_Oh my god_," Massie exclaimed. As if this day could get any worse. "I can't—I didn't—"

Alicia chortled on the other end, furthering Massie's embarrassment. "I'm kidding!" she squealed, clearly happy with the other girl's reaction. "I didn't even know you slept with him, so thanks for sharing!"

"How could you not know?" Massie demanded. "Isn't it all over the tabloids? You run a _gossip website_."

"Yeah, but." Alicia shrugged. "Speaking of that, actually," she changed course, all business here, "none of the pictures show it's you. Just your hair and your dress. Not your face. I think _you're_ in the clear, but obvs not Derrick. They have this agreement not to bring girls home or to be, like, real sneaky about it because—"

Massie interrupted her, "Don't care. You said Skye was here?"

"Yes," grumbled Alicia, not fond of being cut off. "I don't know where, but… she's there."

The brunette in the hotel room rubbed her face tiredly, smudging the mascara that somehow still clung to her lashes. "How am I supposed to find her before she leaves? What if she already left? I don't want to sit on all this blackmail for no reason. I feel bad enough as it is."

"Stop that right now," Alicia ordered. "Do _not_ feel bad. This is the girl that's singlehandedly ruining your life. If you start acting like this now while we have the upper hand, you'll get fired for sure. The entertainment industry does not care about your feelings."

Massie frowned, picking at the fruit bowl on the table. "Okay. So, like… how do I go about this? They're not just going to give me Skye's room number because I asked nicely."

"Yes, I know." Alicia hummed, milling about. "You know what? I have a plan. I can get to the Solomon in thirty, if you're willing to wait that long."

"I mean, yeah. I don't have any idea what to do, so…"

"Kay, but you gotta do some things for me."

"Name it."

"There are three," Alicia said. "One: Make me coffee, two: tell the security guards I'm coming up, and three: find Chris."

The first two were reasonable. Alicia's body was ninety percent caffeine, had been since they were fourteen, and she'd never be able to get to where Massie was if she didn't tell one of the guards about it. But Chris? What role did he play? Didn't Alicia spend the night with Cam?

"Sure… what's Chris gotta do with it though?"

Massie could hear Alicia's front door close, and then the elevator doors. She should've lost the connection once that happened, but the gods were shining down on her, it seemed.

"Chris used to be photographed with Skye all the time," Alicia explained. She greeted her doorman enthusiastically and stepped out into the New York City morning. The traffic hit Massie's ears at full force; she could hardly hear it in this hotel room. "He's gonna be my Plan B. Y'know, or Plan A, since I don't think the original Plan A even qualifies."

"Sure, yeah. I'll look for him. He's gotta be around here somewhere."

"Is Cam there?" Alicia asked suggestively.

"I don't know," Massie said, "and you better not get all weird with him near me."

"As long as you don't get all weird around Derrick near _me._"

"Why would I be weird with—you know what? Just get here."

"Like that wasn't suspicious at all," Alicia sing-songed. "Be right there."

.:.

Chris was frowning across the table at the two of them, three cups of untouched coffee sitting in front of him. Apparently this was his thing. Another one of this things was not being up before noon. The interviewers clearly didn't ask the right questions when given the chance. "What," he started, "is so important that you two need to wake me from my beauty sleep?"

"Operation: Skye."

"That's the worst name for a plan I've ever heard. I want no part in it."

"You're the backup plan," Alicia said, tying her hair up. "Plan B. The second plan if the first one falls through."

He brought the middle cup towards him, adding the necessary amount of sugar. He also didn't like milk, if you were curious. "What is the first one?"

"Um, distracting the guy at the front desk—preferably with Massie breaking her leg or faking a seizure—"

"—_what_—"

"—and then hacking into his computer to find out where Skye is staying, and then getting there, past her security, but that part of the plan is still a little iffy because I'm not sure how well I can do that while Massie is pretending to die downstairs… And then I'm gonna need her anyways because she's the one who has to do all the threatening and blackmailing—my job isn't on the line here, y'know?"

Chris stared. Massie glared. One of the security guards, who was making his one cup of coffee, laughed in the kitchen.

"There is _no possible way_ the two of you can pull this off," Chris decided grandly. He took a large gulp of his drink as he mulled it all over, ignoring the deadly looks Alicia was sending his way. "First off, neither of you are particularly good actresses. Or spies, come to think of it. You both got distracted last night"—a pointed glance in Massie's direction—"and I'm pretty sure the only way you got any good pictures is because Skye was sloppy as hell."

"You have no faith in us. Why is that?"

"I don't know you."

"You just criticized us!"

"You don't have to _know_ someone to _judge_ them."

"Christopher—"

"I'm going to lose my job," Massie wailed, as per usual. Alicia didn't even spare her an odd look, she was so used to this by now. It was like Massie had a daily quota of complaining and crying about her job this week. Chris, on the other hand, was mildly alarmed. "I'm getting swindled by an eighteen year old and I'm going to _lose my job_!"

"Um. Um. Um." Chris flapped around like a bird, almost knocking over his drinks. "Are you gonna cry? I'm not good with crying girls. Like. At all. I stay far, far, _far_ away from them. Please don't cry. Oh my god. Please."

Alicia pursed her lips, watching him thoughtfully.

Massie continued to have a mental breakdown.

"Listen. Listen," babbled Chris. "I'll. I'll—what's Plan B, which is now Plan A? I'll do it. Please don't cry. Can we change the name of the operation while we're at it? Please don't cry."

Alicia clapped. Massie felt a wave of relief flood over her, but she was still aware of her shaking hands. It was _Wednesday_. Two days were left. She was running out of time. This had to work, but none of the other plans worked, so…

"Okay, here's the deal…"

.:.

Operation: Destroy Skye Hamilton and Her Stupid Animal Sweaters (And, Y'know, Get Her to Perform at Times Square, I _Guess_), as Chris so aptly renamed it, had three separate parts.

A: Get information from the guy downstairs.

B: Get inside the hotel room.

C: Blackmail.

.:.

The two followed Chris downstairs, waiting the appropriate amount of time so it didn't seem like they were with him. But once they were in the lobby, all hell broke loose. Massie had no idea that cliche even _existed_, but it did. It really did.

Some girl screamed so loud it ruptured Massie's eardrums—_again_—thus alerting other fans that Chris arrived. How they got there in the first place was a mystery, seeing as this place was always super against allowing fans inside. One of them must've been staying here (but it was expensive as all hell, so how?) and made friends with others who liked Low State as much as her; they banded together in hopes of spotting one of them, or all of them, and now, life changed for them. Chris was _right there_, in plain sight, looking _soooo good_.

At least that's what some preteen said. Not Massie. She did not care about Chris' outfit. It was subpar at best.

He was distracted from their plan before they even had a chance to get it going. Massie was going to scream just as loudly as that girl did, but with more of a murderous note to it. Not that of ultimate jubilation.

The crowd thickened the more time passed and it seemed that Chris was never getting out of this mob. Security was in its way, naturally, but he still had time before that happened, so it was autograph and picture taking left and right.

All around Massie, the clocks changed to read one, mocking her, taunting her with their hands and their numbers. She could see the future in the glass of the one on the table. It was Griffin, firing her, telling her how much she disappointed him. _Oh my god_.

Alicia noticed this, and quickly she hopped to her feet, pulling Massie along with her. "Okay, Plan B."

"_This_ is Plan B."

"Plan C, then. C'mon. Follow my lead."

She did so, weaving through the crowd and ignoring Chris' desperate plea for help. Absolutely not. He deserved it.

Before long, they were at the front desk and Alicia was wearing her most charming of smiles. Massie knew she looked bored and anxious, which was an odd mix. Alicia rang the little bell on the counter. Not even three seconds went by before a man was standing before them.

"How can I help you today, ladies?" he asked. "I'm sorry about the disruption." He eyed the teenage fans as they cried, squealed, screamed, laughed, etc. etc.

"Oh, it's fine. We're used to it," Alicia responded.

_We are?_ Massie wanted to ask.

"You see, we work for Low State, the boy band," she went on, "and that's Chris. From that very boy band. He came down here to find out where Skye Hamilton is staying. You know, the pop star? They've been a thing for a while now. I'm sure you've seen the magazines. He just wasn't expecting this sort of reaction when he came down to ask. Would you mind giving it to us so we can give it to him? It would save a whole lot of time."

"If he's with her, wouldn't he know the room number?" The man asked suspiciously.

"He did," Massie jumped in. It would look rather silly if Alicia did all the talking, right? "It's just that he misplaced it when they got settled yesterday, and they have a date set up in about fifteen minutes, and it would be really great if you could tell us where she is. She's all about punctuality, _especially_ when it comes to him. You wouldn't want to be the reason they break up, do you? They're practically America's It Couple. I mean, your security isn't doing the best job right now…"

Anything he was going to say could not match up to Massie's jib on the hotel and he nodded, searching up the girl. "Right, yes. I am so sorry," he said quickly, as if they were the ones getting attacked by rabid fangirls. "Skye Hamilton… she is on the seventh floor. Room 20. Please don't tell my supervisor about this. We were not expecting…"

"If Chris gets to his date on time, we won't," Alicia cut in.

"Of course, of course!" He was visibly sweating now. "Apologize to him for me, please. I'll have these girls out of here in no time."

They left him freaking out by the desk, dialing a number on the landline. Behind them, the girls had quadrupled—if that were possible—and Massie, yet again, wondered where they came from. They were like an army. A screeching, teenage army. Did Low State have any other fans? Ones older than these? They had to, right? There was Alicia, who seemed to dig their music, and she was picky as all hell…

Shaking her head, because this was _not _the time to contemplate Low State's success, fan base, and demographics, Massie followed Alicia's lead. She wished she knew what was going on in her Latina friend's head, but it was better to ask questions later. They all learned that the hard way once.

It was a little bit terrifying entering the mob surrounding Chris. Massie had to make sure she kept an eye on Alicia's swaying ponytail, for the girl was marching on through like she did this on the daily. Massie wanted to retreat, escaping back to her apartment and keeping her distance from the Solomon and all of its inhabitants. She never understood the way people flocked to celebrities like this; back in the day, she had her fair share of boy band crushes, bedroom walls covered in their faces, but she never had this much audacity. But it seemed like Chris thrived on it, though, despite his previous plea.

Back and forth he spoke to girls, signed his name, took pictures. He was terribly polite and nauseatingly charming. Not once did he seem to make fun of any of them, even when one girl all but fainted after he told her he thought her hair was cool. He was an absolute professional, acting like he was surrounded by maybe ten people, not the fifty that were giving Massie heart palpitations with their squealing.

"All right, big boy," Alicia said, coming up on Chris' right. "We've got Skye's room number for you. Don't want you to miss the big date."

The scene suddenly stopped. Everyone froze, including the very boy Alicia was speaking to.

"Date?" he asked slowly.

"Yes." Alicia nodded. "Remember? Skye's expecting you…" She smiled at all of his fans, most of which were looking at her with dumbstruck faces. "I'm sorry, ladies, but if Chris wants to make sure Skye doesn't write _another_ song about him…"

"I knew it!" one girl whisper-giggled to her friend. That very cluster was right at Massie's side. "'Boy' is _definitely_ about Chris. I _told _you!"

"Not 'Boy'," someone else hissed back, not part of his friend group. "It's 'Underneath My Skin'."

"God, no, I hate that one," someone else piped in.

"That doesn't change the fact that it's about Chris—"

"It's not—"

"Here, I'm gonna get the lyrics up…"

"…Look, right here: _I'm not good for him, he's not good for me_—"

"No—

"_These _are the lyrics about him… _maybe we could have tried a little harder, held a little tighter, trusted a little deeper… we could have been forever, we could have been forever_—"

"That is, by far, the saddest song on this album, are you _kidding_—"

Alicia's hand wrapped around Massie's wrist and she tugged, pulling the latter out of the chaos. The fans weren't paying attention anymore, and if they were, they were all for Chris going to find Skye. It seemed they liked this coupling, though they were the only ones. Chris looked absolutely livid, only noticeable by his tense jaw. None of the overly excitable girls saw this, and as he was pulled into the elevator, he went off.

"_DATE_?"

"I had to get you out of there," reasoned Alicia, fixing her lip gloss.

"You couldn't have figured out a different way?" he seethed, leaning up against the wall. "You know what's going to happen now, don't you? They're going to_ talk_. It's going to be everywhere that I want to get back together with that lunatic! I'm _twenty three_; she's _eighteen_!"

"No one cares about age differences." Alicia waved him off. "And this isn't even about you, it's about Massie."

Chris met the brunette's eyes in the mirror. "I hate you."

"You can… write a song about it?" she suggested rather pathetically.

"I'm going to write a song about you crazy people and call it 'Psycho'—and it's going to be such a club banger that you will hear it constantly and remember just how much I hate you."

"I'm honored," Alicia replied as the doors opened. "Just… if you use my name, make sure to pronounce it right."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Bye."

"Nope. You're coming."

"What? No."

"How are we supposed to get into Skye's room without you?"

"Drug the guards! Kill them! I don't want to be _anywhere_ near her."

"Too bad. You're going on a date. Come _on._"

Chris stood stubbornly, glaring at the tiny people in front of him. It wasn't exactly like they were _small_, but he was almost larger than life, and having him look at them the way he was made Massie a bit nervous. Or that could be because she was down the hall from Skye and _so close _to fixing everything… or, you know, fucking it up.

At the last second, Chris shot forward and pressed a button. The elevator doors started to shut, Alicia screeched, Massie cried (just a little—don't tell anyone), and then the door was no longer moving.

"_Let's go_—"

Alicia, who had somehow gotten in between those closing doors, wrenched Chris through them as well. Massie was torn between kissing her and killing him, but she ultimately decided to send Alicia a fruit basket—strawberries covered in chocolate; she really liked those. And maybe she'd kiss her later. And then kill Chris. If she could get away with it. Someone would notice. Actually, a whole lot of someones would notice…

"Massie, are you coming or not?" Alicia called over her shoulder. "We've got things to do!"

"I… uh… yeah. I'm coming. Yes."

She scurried after them, trying to meet their strides, but they had more of a head start. Skye's hotel room was just ahead. There were two guys standing outside dressed in all black—was that the unspoken uniform? Why did they look like _ninjas_? Or serial killers? They gazed upon the three of them wearily, faces hard. Chris gave them a jaunty sort of wave; one of them nodded. They must've recognized him.

Alicia and Massie hung back as Chris went to work, warming the cold exteriors of Skye's personal bodyguards.

"Anthony, Gerard," he greeted smoothly. "How've you been?"

"Well," Right Guard said. "How about you, Chris?"

"I mean." Chris shrugged. "As well as you can get, I s'pose. Didja hear the girls downstairs?"

Left Guard snorted. "That was you? I thought for sure it was Harrington."

"I don't know if I should be offended or not," Chris shot back. Alicia nudged Massie hard at the man's comment, as if that meant_ anything_. Still, the latter's cheeks reddened. She wasn't sure why. "But anyway, is Skye around? I was hoping to talk to her."

"Yeah," Right said, "but they can't come with."

Chris looked back at them. "Dude, they work for us. They… have to come with me wherever I go."

"What happened to your security detail?" asked Left. Right looked just as suspicious as he sounded.

"Um, they're with Derrick and Josh," answered the boy, scratching the back of his head. Massie cringed—for a famous person, he was pretty shit at lying. "They went out somewhere and you know how people get around them these days. It's wild."

"So you have two girls with you? Your fans could squish them with their _pinkies_. No offense."

Offense was taken, but neither girl let them know. Instead, Massie blurted, "We're not—we're part of the hair and makeup team. I know Chris looks awful right now, but he was insistent on coming here first…"

"I look fine!"

"You need a haircut, honey," Massie retorted, taking a step forward and playing with the long strands falling in his face. Chris glared at her.

"And a new shirt, _honestly_," Alicia whispered to Right, who clicked his tongue in amusement. "All those holes are so unflattering."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Yeah, so. They're annoying and I need them with me. I just want to talk to Skye real quick about… about…" He frowned, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse.

Massie felt her heart beat faster until she was sure she was vibrating with pure anxiety. He couldn't fail her now; the door was _right there_! Oh my god, oh my god—

But Chris said the one thing that changed her entire life. She didn't want to kill him anymore, she wanted to kiss him. And Alicia. And the bodyguards for believing him.

"It's a secret, but… we wanna collab," Chris said, hushed, like someone was about to jump out of the potted plants by the elevator. "You know, on her next album, or her on ours… all of us, some of us, one of us… get a new sound goin', y'know?"

"Huh." Alicia cocked her head to the side. "I'd listen to it."

The guards would, too, it seemed like, and they were quick to let Chris—and Alicia and Massie, _oh my god_—by.

Absolute euphoria had Massie imagining the hotel room to be that of a palace, even though it looked just like Low State's, only switched around. Where the kitchen was in theirs was the living room in Skye's, and right there on the couch, with a tall glass of water and a plate of French fries, was the girl herself. No one else seemed to be around, but that was just with one quick glance around.

It was proven that she was, in fact, alone, when she called "Mom?" as the door shut behind Alicia, and that one word had the two girls sharing a triumphant look. Just like they hoped, Skye was without her biggest defense. They might just be able to get away with this.


	5. december 29th pt II

yeah, I know, I've been literally gone for almost a year. I am the worst.

but here we go with another update, so very long overdue. it's not as funny as the others. it's got a bit of seriousness to it, considering just how close our characters are getting to new year's.

hope you enjoy (and you don't hate me as much as i think you do).

xx

* * *

**.:. december 29th .:.  
**_part II_

"Uck." Skye scowled. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"You mean you're not happy to see me?" The smirk on Chris' face was so apparent, even though Massie and Alicia were currently huddled behind him, unable to see it.

There was silence, the kind that made anyone around the right amount of awkward. An odd sort of feeling crept up Massie's spine; she wanted to turn hell right then and there and run.

Chris, however, seemed to relish this reaction, and he chortled. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, princess," he retorted.

A rather unattractive sound escaped Skye. Alicia frowned as the girl's angered yet still high-pitched, Valley Girl-esque voice rang out: "And you're here for what reason, then?"

The boyband member took a step forward, entering the living room. Massie grabbed Alicia's wrist in a terrified sort of manner. She felt so exposed without Chris' back pressed up against her side.

"These girls downstairs were fighting over what song you wrote about me, and I grew curious, so . . ."

Alicia snorted, because _oh my god are you SERIOUS_, and Massie slapped her free palm over her mouth. Neither of the famous people in the next room over seemed to notice.

There was a rather extended period of silence right then, and Massie took a deep breath before popping her head around the corner. Skye was staring at Chris so blankly it was hysterical, though her face was as pale as ever, and her hair was an absolute mess. She was clearly suffering from a hell of a hangover. If Massie remembered correctly — and she didn't, not really — Skye had drank enough for about three people last night.

(Then again, so did Massie.)

(_But_ she wasn't as hungover as Skye seemed; she wasn't hungover at _all_, so HA.)

"I'm waiting," Chris urged, tapping his foot.

"Since it matters so much," mocked Skye, voice monotone, "it's 'Underneath My Skin.' It's the only one written solely about you."

"Are you _kidding_ me?!" Chris all but seethed. "That's — that's the worst one! The guy sounds like . . . he's . . . _how dare you_."

Absolutely startling laughter filled the room. Skye was getting a kick out of Chris' obvious anger. Alicia seemed to enjoy knowing what song was about him, too, but Massie unfortunately wasn't that much of a Skye Hamilton fan, so she wasn't sure what the big deal was. She'd have to look up the lyrics when this whole thing finally blew over.

"Why the face, Plovert?" Skye inquired. "It's not like you and the rest of your silly little band didn't write 'Rescue Me' about me."

Massie elbowed Alicia lightly, breathing, "'Rescue Me'?" in her ear.

"The single before this one," the Latina responded just as quietly. "Uh, you'll remember it mostly by the . . . _rescue me, you've officially gone crazy, I never wanted you around _. . ."

The other girl vaguely remembered hearing this on the radio. It was such a mean pop song she laughed every time she heard it, and, if she were being honest, she might have put it on her "Fuck You Ex-Boyfriend" playlist . . .

They missed a good portion of Skye and Chris' conversation during their small interaction, and when they resumed their listening, Skye was asking, "Okay, what are you really doing here?"

"I'm here to blackmail you," he said rather bluntly.

"— Excuse me, _what —_"

Alicia tugged Massie by their connected wrists, the latter's fingers in a death grip around the former. The two stumbled into view, and Skye all but screamed, but kept her cool, instead shoving a number of fries in her mouth.

Once she swallowed, her eyes narrowed at the sight of Massie. "_You_."

"Yes, me," snapped Massie, not liking her tone. "It's nice to see you again, Skye."

"Listen, you can stop stalking me, alright? No matter what you do, I'm not going to play your dumb New Year's Eve thing, 'kay?"

This little singer was starting to sound more and more like Massie and Alicia had in middle school. How pleasant.

With each passing second Massie grew more and more irritated with the girl, and she wasn't even talking half the time. She made a mental note to apologize profusely to her parents and anyone else she had been overtly rude to in her younger years — of course, this would happen after she listened to that one song of Skye's and then rocked out to 'Rescue Me.' She had a feeling she'd understand every word of that song once she was done with this.

Chris let out such a loud cackle Massie jumped. "Dumb New Year's Eve thing?" he echoed. "Ha! Do you know how many artists would _kill_ to perform at Times Square when the ball drops? Are you _kidding _me? Do you think you're so privileged now that even something like that is beneath you?"

"I can't do it. I don't _want _to do it!" Skye shot Chris a dirty look, which he evenly matched. Alicia looked as if she were aching to write about this on her website. "Thank you for the opportunity or _whatever_," she said to Massie, "but I have to decline. I called your agency or what have you and told them the exact same thing. Something came up and I cannot commit any longer —"

"You're such a flake, you know that?" spat Massie, moving closer to Chris as to get a better look at the girl. She was pathetic, sitting there in her misery, drinking coffee and eating the greasiest food in an attempt to cure her nasty hangover. "You have all these fans, you promised all these people, and you just . . . _back out_? I don't care what it is that you would rather be doing, but you _will _perform on that stage two days from now! You will sing the mandatory five songs, you will be pleasant, you will wish everyone a Happy New Year. My _job_ is on the line here, Skye. You can be a stuck up, self-observed brat first thing January, but for every second of December, you will be grateful for every opportunity you have been given, and you will think of others —"

"I CAN'T BECAUSE I'M GOING TO REHAB FIRST THING TOMORROW MORNING!" Skye shrieked in an attempt to be heard over Massie's angry tirade.

The silence that fell over the four of them was worse than anything they had ever experienced and Chris thought he'd seen hell before, in the form of fangirls. But this . . . this was worse.

Massie's mouth opened and shut so many times her throat started to ache. Alicia's palms twitched and she had to calm herself in the wake of this startling news. If she could be the first one to release it . . . Her gossip website would _skyrocket _in popularity, and it was already one of the most popular pages on the Internet.

Chris seemed to be the only one with the ability to speak. "Rehab?"

If Massie hadn't seen firsthand — at least for a little bit — and the pictures to prove it she wouldn't have believed it. Skye Hamilton in rehab? It was unthinkable if you thought her show personality was her real one. Before yesterday, Massie would never have thought Skye even knew what alcohol was, or what drugs were, or whatever substance she was abusing was.

But now . . .

The next thing they all heard was Chris' hysterical laughter.

.:.

"Here, drink this." Chris placed a glass of colored liquid in front of Massie.

Massie lifted it rather robotically, staring at it as if it held all the answers of the universe. "What is it?"

"Scotch," said Chris. "It'll help."

"Will it give me my job back?"

"Um . . . I don't think alcohol has that power, unfortunately."

"Ah, well." Massie shrugged and knocked it back in one go, wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand. "Hit me again."

Chris did as he was told, turning his back and grabbing another glass. If she was going to drink her sorrows away, he might as well too. Not that he had any sorrows to drink away; he'd just have to drink to be a good friend. Because they were friends. Somehow.

They clinked their glasses and once again Massie downed it. She tapped the rim of the glass as if Chris were a bartender and with a sigh, he turned again. This time, he brought the whole bottle of scotch over, along with a thing of tequila, figuring they might need it.

In the background, they could hear Alicia yelling to someone at her office about the recent Skye Hamilton discovery. "I'm sending you as much information as I can, Kori!" she snarled. "My texts are going as fast as I would like! — I don't _care _if you have plans tonight, I want this out ASAP! She's going _tomorrow_. I want to be the first to have news of this, do you understand me? _Move it_!"

Massie met Chris' eyes. "She's gonna need one of these as well."

"Already got it covered," he replied, sliding a full glass to the empty seat on Massie's left.

Alicia ended the call rather angrily, slamming her phone down on the countertop with no care for it at all. Without a word, she took a tentative sip of the drink, and made a face at the taste. "I hate scotch," she muttered. "Is this tequila?"

No one answered her. She gripped the other bottle by the neck, analyzed it, and proceeded to pour her helping of scotch into Chris' empty glass. She replaced the darker liquid with the clear, dropped an ice cube in it, and seemed more at ease with this choice.

And then the trio sat in silence, looking very much the part of mourners after a funeral.

They weren't sure how long they sat there. If the near empty bottles were any indication, they had probably been there for hours. Not talking, just drinking.

It was at that point that Derrick finally decided to return.

Massie couldn't remember what he'd been up to while her blackmail fabulously failed, but his arrival brought butterflies to her stomach. Her heart started to beat faster and faster until she was sure it was going to burst right out of her chest, and she felt like she was going to vomit.

Well, that could have been from the alcohol, not him.

"Bro," Chris drawled, "we're out of scotch."

"Did I not get invited to the party?" the blonde asked. He moved around the table to get to the kitchen, hand brushing against Massie's back. His touch made her swallow the rest of her drink rather quickly, and she shuddered.

"There's still tequila, no worries," Alicia told him, pushing the drink in question towards him. "I have been drinking this straight because Chris is a bad host."

"I am a very good host! The best host!"

"You're going to write a mean song about me."

"I said it would be a club banger!"

"But it's going to be _mean_."

Derrick shot Massie a confused look, and she forced the fakest smile on her face. "Skye's going to rehab tomorrow!" she announced grandly. She let him digest this information, reaching over for the tequila near him, and taking a long pull — which, in hindsight, probably wasn't her best idea.

"Rehab," he echoed. "For what?"

"America's little princess has an alcohol problem," answered Chris, and then with an inebriated giggle: "Isn't that funny?"

"So funny," Massie agreed. "I am laughing _so_ hard." She drank some more, no one moving to stop her. "I'm so going to get fired. This is it. This is the end." She sighed, twisting her hair around her fingers. "Couldn't her mother or whatever admit her _after_ New Year's? Why is everyone so selfish? I'm . . . I'm going to write her a strongly-worded letter."

Chris slammed his hand on the counter. "Yes! Strong words! Incorporate how much I hate her!"

"It will go like this . . ." Massie cleared her throat. "Dear Skye Hamilton and Co., I am currently writing you this letter from my new house: A box in some dark, sketchy alleyway. Because you did not perform at Times Square on New Year's, I was subsequently fired, my reputation tarnished, and no one would hire me since I am untrustworthy. I wanted to thank you for helping me meet my new friend, a rat whom of which I've named Randy. He is my only friend. Signed, Massie Block. P.S. Chris Plovert hated you last time I spoke with him, and I'm sure he still does."

Chris applauded her. Derrick decided it was high time to take the alcohol away from these children.

Just as his back turned, Massie's lightheartedness took a turn for the worst, and with an earsplitting wail, she broke: "I'M GOING TO GET _FIRED_!"

.:.

Some time later, Alicia and Chris had passed out on their couch, limbs tangled despite the fact that they had been doing nothing but arguing. Her head rested on his chest, one of his arms was flung over her. It was hard to believe she'd been into Cam last night.

But Derrick was not with them, not that he'd want to be anyway.

His hands held back Massie's hair as she threw up, fingers deftly braiding the long locks back. Massie gagged, over and over, over and over, over and over. She spit up, she vomited, she spit up again. It was a never-ending cycle.

"You know, if you hadn't drank so much this wouldn't have happened," he commented lightly.

She leaned her clammy forehead on the toilet seat. "I have to call Griffin tomorrow and . . ." she trailed off, her entire body seizing as if she were about to throw up again, but she didn't. "And . . . and tell him Skye isn't doing it . . . and I'm going to get fired."

Derrick applied pressure to her shoulder blades, massaging her back as she sat pitifully in front of the toilet. "All you have to do is ask, Massie."

"Ask what?" She took a deep breath, calming herself.

He leaned forward, kissed her collarbone. "We'll perform. I've told you this before. We're not doing anything that day. We were just gonna watch the ball drop."

"I can't ask you to do that," she said, turning to him.

"Why not?"

"Because I got Skye Hamilton. We've told everyone it was Skye Hamilton —"

" — so? It can be us —"

"Even if I got a replacement, even if I asked you . . . I'm still the one getting in trouble. I'm the one that was hired for this kind of thing and I couldn't even get Skye to commit. Regardless of her situation — and let me tell you, Griffin will not care in the slightest — I will be taking the blame. I will be fired whether or not Low State plays. It doesn't matter who does it in the end, but because Skye will not, I'm gone."

"Massie," Derrick ground out, not able to see the problem here, "just ask!"

"No. I can't. I want to, but I c—" She stopped abruptly, and instead of words, every last ounce of alcohol left her mouth.

* * *

i'd say we've got about two more chapters left. not sure if i'll incorporate december 30th or not- i might just jump to the 31st. but who knows!

again, sorry for the long long long long wait, and if you're feeling inclined, please check out the prologue for my harry potter fic entitled 'hell bound' and let me know if you're diggin the concept or not (wink wink nudge nudge pls love me)


	6. december 31st

NOTE: Well, here we are, everyone. The last chapter of my very amusing side project that shouldn't have taken as long as it did...

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Some credit is due in this chapter to: Perez Hilton's website, where I got the idea for Alicia's gossip site from, and R5, for writing 'Do It Again,' a song I very much enjoy that I suggest you listen to ASAP.

Thank you very much if you have been a dedicated fan to this, and thank you if you have reviewed, even if it was to yell at me for abandoning this story for, like, a year. Your anger and insistence gets me all riled up and I normally can get something out after some prodding, so y'all rock. :)

* * *

'**This Crown May Be Broken, But It Still Fits Like A Glove****'****: America****'****s Sweetheart Skye Hamilton Checks Into Rehab****  
**12/30 6:47 AM ET | Filed under: Alcohol — Rehab — Skye Hamilton — Popstar

It's been reported that teen singing sensation, Skye Hamilton, aged 18, has checked into rehab.

The first leg of her worldwide tour has been canceled in order for the teenager to get all the help she needs. Momager Pamela Hamilton has been worried about her daughter for months now, as the popstar has developed a bit of an addiction to alcohol.

The location of Ms. Hamilton's rehab facility is kept under wraps, even from us gossip wranglers, but from what we've heard, it has a five star rating and will no doubt help our favorite singer out of her funk in no time.

The first step to recovery is acceptance, and we applaud Skye for seeking help at such a difficult time.

.

.

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**from: alicia****  
****to: massie****  
**tell me you saw the skye post on my site

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie**  
it was very last minute but COME ON kori could have done 35% better

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie**  
the title irks me

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**also I'm not applauding skye at all ugh

.

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**heeeellloooooo?

.

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**did derrick steal your phone again

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**don't know why he would want it, it's such a piece of shit

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**ok sorry that was rude

.

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**no seriously massie why aren't you answering

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**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**you won't even answer your door? come on griffin can't blame you for this

.

**from: alicia****  
****to: massie  
**ok fine call me when you feel up to it

.

**from: derrick****  
****to: massie  
**band's got the whole day off, you wanna do something?

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**from: derrick****  
****to: massie  
**massie i just talked to alicia come on you can't ignore everyone forever

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**from: derrick****  
****to: massie****  
**massie

.

.

.

"You have four new messages. First voice message . . .

Massie, it's Griffin. We need to talk. Come to the office as soon as you can.

Next voice message . . .

Hello, it is your dear friend Chris. We still have tequila left. We can drink until you forget you're sad! And then if we're feeling most spunky, we can call your asshole boss and tell him how we really feel. Or we can prank call him! Whatever you like.

Next voice message . . .

Massie, I thought you — I thought we . . . I thought there was something between — call me. Please.

Next voice message . . .

Massie, you're being dumb. I told you the band would perform in place of Skye. They've all agreed to it. We even got our manager on board; all you have to do is tell us and we're good to go. Wouldn't it look better if you lost a performer and then got another one? Wouldn't your boss _like _that? Come on, Massie. Call me back. Call _somebody_ back.

End of new messages . . ."

.

.

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**.:. december 31 .:.**

_8:05 AM_

Massie rolled over with a loud groan. Sunlight filtered through her curtains, blinding her in her hazy, sleepy state of mind. She took a spare pillow and pressed it against her face to make it dark again. The recurring thought of "if I apply enough pressure I could smother myself" entered her mind — as it had for the past two days — but she wasn't suicidal, just completely miserable.

Her phone vibrated for what felt like the hundredth time. "Oh, will you SHUT UP," she snapped, arm shooting out to grasp the damn thing. She didn't even bother to check who was trying to reach her; it was probably Alicia, or Derrick, or even Chris, who was starting to look for her as well.

It stopped, then picked up again, and with a short, high-pitched yell, she threw it across the room.

The phone hit the wall opposite her bed and fell from there into her laundry basket. For a moment it was silent again, and she breathed a sigh of relief, relishing in it. For a moment she could pretend everything was alright . . . and then it went off again.

Why couldn't it have broken when it hit the wall?

Why were the vibrations so _loud_?

Again, Massie hid beneath a pillow, breathing in the stuffy smell of old shampoo. Her phone vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated until, finally, the sound somehow lulled her back to sleep.

.

_10:19 AM_

Alicia sighed angrily, jabbing the 'END' button as hard as she could. The force almost broke her finger, but it didn't make her feel any better. That was the tenth time this morning Massie's phone went to voicemail.

"No luck?" asked Derrick.

"Here, drink this," said Chris.

She didn't know how she ended up _here_, of all places, while her friend was currently MIA. She could have bothered Claire, or even Dylan, but the first thought she had revolved around calling any member of Low State. Turns out she had three of the five members' numbers, and dialed Derrick's, since he was probably just as annoyed — read: worried — as she was about Massie.

"It's too early to get drunk, Christopher," she tutted.

"It's a _mimosa_," he shot back. "You drink these at brunch. It's appropriate brunch time, is it not?"

Alicia threw him a rather dirty look.

"_Fine_," he emphasized annoyingly, "I'll drink it. And FYI: it's never too early to get drunk, especially now, since Massie could be dead in a ditch somewhere and you two are just sitting here, moping and calling her every two seconds —"

"She's _not_ dead in a ditch," Alicia snapped at the same time Derrick shouted, "I'm not moping!"

Chris snorted derisively — at Derrick, of course, because obviously Massie was not in any sort of ditch anywhere. His friend was just sitting there, feet propped up on the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, an annoying pout on his face. He'd been like this for the past two days, ever since he left that pathetic message on Massie's phone (yes, Chris had been eavesdropping).

He — meaning Chris — knocked back the mimosa he made. "Aaaah," he said after swallowing, and again Alicia glared at him. It was a bit stronger than he would have liked, but being around these miserable humans was annoying enough; he might make another.

"Have you tried going to her place?" He pulled the champagne out of the fridge. The orange juice was already on the counter. "Like, knocking on the door?"

"Do you think I'm dumb?" Alicia asked, dialing Massie once again. This time the phone didn't even ring. Straight to voicemail. She sighed again. "She didn't answer."

Chris pursed his lips, staring at her for a moment or two longer than he should have. She was insanely pretty, something he noticed almost every time he saw her. Long dark hair which was rarely down, styled in some sort of elaborate braid or whatever, the lightest brown, doe-like eyes, the cutest nose, full, full, full lips . . . she'd be perfect if she weren't in the line of work he so outrightly abhorred.

Gossip, tabloids — they were the bane of his existence. Coincidentally, they were also the reason the entire world thought he and Skye were a thing and then subsequently hated him for "breaking her heart." As if.

With a shake of his head, he rid himself of these thoughts. Not the time nor the place. He forwent the orange juice, a bit overwhelmed, and poured himself a full glass of champagne.

"You're kidding me, right?" he demanded after taking a large mouthful. "You and Massie are like two peas in a pod, but worse. You're telling me you don't have copies of each other's house keys? I have a copy of Derrick's!"

"Oh my _god_, Chris, you're a genius!" Alicia leaped up, raced around the countertop, and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. "I don't know why I didn't remember that! Ugh, love you!"

And then she was gone, leaving Chris in the kitchen, face as red as a tomato.

"You have my key?" Derrick asked, a shit-eating smirk replacing his pout.

"Uh . . . yeah." Chris cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck, tried to get rid of the heat. "I, uh . . . need to know where you are at all times — _stop looking at me like that_!"

.

_11:58 AM_

"Massie, Massie, Massie, Massie, Massie."

Alicia's fist hit the front door of Massie's apartment a little bit louder each time she said her name. Sweat dripped down from her temples, and she felt sticky and gross. Given it was New Year's Eve, getting anywhere in this city was an atrocity. The subways were packed, the subways were _late_ . . . It took her almost an hour to get to Massie's from the Solomon.

And now the bitch wouldn't answer the door.

"I have coffee, Massie!" she yelled. "Yours has an extra shot of espresso. Come _on_, answer me!"

Nothing.

"_Massie_!"

She slammed both hands against the door, knocking out a most annoying tune.

"Answer the door!"

Again — nothing.

"Fine." Alicia stopped what she was doing, rifling through her purse. "I hate having to do this to you, but you leave me no choice . . ." A few moments passed, she found the spare key Massie gave her years ago, and stuck it into the lock. "I'm coming in."

She waited, counted to fifteen and back, and when Massie didn't answer, she turned the key and pushed the door open.

It was completely silent.

Everything was in its proper place. There was no mess, no disorganization. Massie's keys were on the table, her shoes — the ones Alicia had complimented and seen her in the other day — by the closet in the hall.

She wasn't dead in a ditch, that much was for sure.

Alicia walked farther back where the bedrooms were. Massie had two. One for her, and the other was a guest room. Alicia spent a number of nights crashed there, but even more in Massie's own bed with her by her side. And right in front of her was that very room, door shut. Without calling out, Alicia reached forward, turned the knob, and entered.

Massie was lying in the middle of her bed, pillow on her head, one arm dangling off the side of the bed.

It would be a humorous sight if Alicia hadn't been so concerned (and annoyed). Slipping off her shoes, she leaped, bouncing on the bed before crawling over her friend.

"Oh, here you are!" she trilled, pulling at the pillow covering Massie's face.

Massie's grip tightened and she mumbled, "Go 'way."

"Nope," sang Alicia, and she yanked with all her might. The pillow finally loosened and she tumbled back, victorious. "I would like to know why you've been ignoring my text messages and my calls and my house visits, thank you kindly."

Eyes still closed, Massie replied, "I've been waiting for Death to come and take me."

Alicia rolled her own. "You know, you are _so_ dramatic, I don't know why you never pursued a career in acting."

"Too competitive," was the answer.

"Oh, alright," Alicia agreed. She dropped herself down by Massie's side, snuggling herself into the soft mattress. "Now this is not the way to go, I hope you know that. Besides," she added as almost an afterthought. "You're not going to die."

"It's the same thing — I'm going to get fired." The whine in Massie's voice was starting to grate on Alicia's nerves; for the past week, that was all she heard.

"And so what if that happens?" Alicia asked. "So what if you get fired? Life goes on. You'll get another job. Hell, you could get a _better _job. There's no point in sulking. People get fired, people get dumped . . . all sorts of bad things happen to everyone everywhere, and you know what? Life goes on!"

Massie opened her eyes and turned, staring at Alicia impassively.

"Life goes on," repeated Alicia, as if she were just realizing this. "Life goes on. You can't stop anything from happening, but you can take it, and you can continue to live it to the fullest. If you lose your job, you lose your job. It's not the only one there is. There are others. All you have to do is get out of bed and you'll find them!"

"Shut up," snapped Massie, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow.

"Massie, don't you get it? You have to stop caring so much about this. It's just one little mistake. And it's not even _your_ fault. So what if you were the one who booked Skye? _She__'__s_ the one with the problem, she's the one going to rehab — you had nothing to do with it, and if Griffin decides to punish you for Skye's addiction then it's his own loss. And you can find a better boss for you, one that won't fire you if something out of your control happens. You just need to look at the brighter side of things."

"Are you aware what you sound like right now?" asked Massie, and without giving Alicia a chance to reply, she answered, "Annoying."

Alicia sighed loudly. "You can't mope forever, Massie. It is very unbecoming."

Massie snorted. "Watch me."

.

_1:15 PM_

"You can't stay in bed all day, we had plans!"

"That was when my life was going great, and now it's not, so I do not care."

"It's _New Year__'__s Eve_."

"Oh, wow, really?"

"Come on, Massie!"

"Go celebrate if you want to so badly, then. Leave me here to die."

Alicia hit Massie over the head with her pillow.

.

_2:06 PM_

"Don't you have to go to work?"

"I don't think I work there anymore."

"Have you even been there since Skye —"

"No," said Massie, "and I will not."

Alicia sighed. "Well, _that__'__s_ going to get you fired, definitely. Not going is just dumb, Massie. Get up."

"I don't _want_ to get up!"

"You sound like a child."

"I wish I were a child."

.

_2:15 PM_

"Don't make you pull me out of this bed and dress you myself, Massie Jillian."

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_2:25 PM_

Massie Jillian did, in fact, make Alicia pull her out of this bed and dress her herself.

.

_3:00 PM_

"I'm up, I'm dressed — are you happy now?" demanded Massie, glaring at Alicia, who was sitting rather smugly in the middle of her (most comfortable) bed, legs crossed in some sort of yoga pose.

"Ecstatic," said Alicia. "Though I wish you were wearing a different shirt."

Massie looked down. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. I just don't like that color."

"It's _blue.__" _

"I hate blue."

"Since when?"

"Uh_ . . . _always?"

Massie glared at her, flopping back down on her bed. "So what are we doing today?"

Alicia followed her lead, being more chipper than the other girl, and stretched her skinny arms over her head. She was already dressed in her New Year's outfit: the obligatory sparkly top and a pair of skin-tight jeans that made walking a lot harder than she wished. Everyone who wore dresses out tonight was insane; it was _freezing_.

"What we always do," she chirped.

"I'm really not up for the bar crawl," groaned Massie. "You and Claire can go do that."

"I'm not ringing in the new year without you! Get your head out of your ass and have _fun_, but first — call Griffin."

Massie pursed her lips. "I'd rather not."

"Well, too late."

"What —" Massie looked over to see her friend's fingers flying across her own phone — the shitty one Alicia always complained about — and shot her arm out as quickly as she could. "Alicia, stop!"

"You need to talk to him," said Alicia, and she held up a finger. "Hi, yes," she spoke into the phone, tone softer and friendlier. "Is Griffin Hastings there? . . . Thank you." She turned back to Massie. "I'm assuming since you weren't answering my calls, or Derrick's calls, or anyone else's calls, you've avoided Griffin's as well. And that's very un-adult-like of you, so . . . talk to him." She smirked, and dropped the phone on Massie's chest.

Massie tried to ignore it, and it worked for a while. That is, until she heard Griffin's voice: a sharp "Hello?"

Alicia hopped off the bed and exited the room, off to do God knows what, and Massie, reluctantly, picked up the phone.

"Griffin, hi. It's, uh, Massie."

"Massie!" he greeted. "How are you? I haven't heard from you in quite some time."

She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her top, wincing at the hardness of the lace material. "Yeah, it's been a rough week. Skye refused to commit. I'm sorry."

There was a pregnant pause and Massie willed herself, prepared for the worst, the words she'd been fearing since the start of the week. She'd practically killed herself for this job, bent over backwards, worked overtime so many nights . . . and now she was done. Out. Just like that.

"Well, things happen," Griffin said, and Massie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. The world seemed to come back into focus; it even looked a little brighter, smelled a little nicer. "The tabloids are exploding — this is quite the story. Never would've pegged Skye Hamilton to be _that_ kind of celebrity, but you know the deal with child stars . . ." He sighed. "But anyway, I'm glad you called. I'm very impressed with the way you handled all this, and the lengths you went to to try to get Skye back. It's a shame she had to cancel all her performances, but you know how it is. Have a good New Year's Eve, alright? I'll see you back at the office in a few days, but I hope to see you tonight — this is, in fact, the culmination of all of our hard work!"

A frown turned Massie's lips down, and she ran a hand through her tangled hair. "_How_ — didn't Skye bail?"

Griffin shuffled some papers on the other end; she could hear him rummaging about his office. "Everything works out in the end, Massie. You'll see."

He hung up before she could even think of getting another word in edgewise, leaving her sitting on her bed in a dazed state of confusion — and then, it hit her. She _wasn__'__t_ fired. Not even a little bit.

Alicia popped her head into the room. "How'd it go? I heard no dramatic sobbing."

"I'm not fired," said Massie, still a bit out of it. "But it seems like everything's worked itself out, even though Skye's not performing, which is weird . . . there will be, like, fifteen to twenty minutes of dead air, and that's not going to look good for us _or_ the television broadcast companies airing the festivities . . ."

"All that matters to me is you are not fired, which means you will be able to attend our annual NYC bar crawl," Alicia spoke, clapping twice in excitement. "It's starting at Kristen's club, and our dear friend should be there last I spoke to her." The Latina pursed her lips, looking Massie up and down. "And can you _please_ change your shirt? It's ruining my whole life."

.

_3:45 PM_

Massie changed her shirt.

.

_5:47 PM_

The best thing about having a friend who owned a highly successful club was they never needed to make a reservation, or wait in line for hours. All Massie, Dylan, Claire, and Alicia had to do was greet the bouncer, meet Kristen inside, and all was well.

Half-off drinks, free shots . . . it was a pretty good deal. Kristen was the best.

The night moved on slowly at first, as it always did when drinking began. Alcohol burned on down their throats, caused goosebumps to rise on their arms, and they swore they would never drink again, which, of course, was a lie, as they were taking another tequila shot approximately three minutes after the initial complaining.

"I read the tabloids," Kristen told Massie, licking the salt off her wrist. "Crazy, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, crazy," agreed Massie, wrinkling her nose. Kristen downed the clear liquid in one go, quickly shoving a lime in her mouth to rid it of the taste. "But whatever, right? Everything happens for a reason, I guess."

Kristen quirked an eyebrow. "Last I heard you were going insane, Mass. What changed?" Something behind Massie had her looking over the brunette's head. "And, if you don't mind, would you care to fill me in on the details of you and that blonde cutie over there?"

Massie turned quickly — a bad idea as the alcohol in her stomach sloshed around and made her nauseous — and was face to face (actually, he was a few feet away) with the one of the many people she'd been avoiding over the past few days: number one popstar, Derrick Harrington.

He caught her eye and grinned, slapped Josh on the back, and made his way over.

To the bartender he said, "Whatever you have on draft's fine," and to Massie: "Long time no see."

All she could do was smile weakly. Kristen, on the other hand, smirked over the rim of her newly procured glass, and took her leave, making some excuse about hosting and whatnot. A real great friend that one was.

Derrick slid into her empty seat, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to her temple. "What Alicia said this morning had me worried, but you seem fine to me."

"Not so much fine as I am drunk, but." Massie shrugged. "What can you do?"

He surveyed her oddly for a couple of minutes. "No longer going crazy, then?" He took a rather long pull from his beer.

"Well, I am, but that's only because I'm always going crazy, but not so much as I was before." Massie felt itchy just looking at him; she _hated_ famous people.

"Good to know," he said lightly. "Any clue as to what's happening with the lack of Skye and the fact that today is, in fact, New Year's? I checked my calendar _twice_ just to be positive."

Massie signaled for the bartender to bring her another shot, didn't matter which kind. "Let's not talk about that," she replied. "All I know is I am not fired and I do not care what happens tonight. I'm tired of worrying about this dumb holiday."

"If you say so, dear," Derrick drawled, clinking his glass with her minuscule one.

She downed her shot and frowned, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "Did you just call me _dear_?"

"I did indeed."

"_Why_?"

"Well, sometimes when people like each other, they call each other by these little pet names, you know? I'm not much of a 'babe' kind of guy, that's more Chris' territory, so . . ." Derrick drummed his fingers on the countertop, almost like a sort of nervous tick, but his eyes never left Massie's. "And despite all this nonsense and craziness that surrounds you, I'd like to continue to see you, if that's alright."

Massie refused to let it show how much those words pleased her — and how long it took her intoxicated brain to comprehend them. Derrick watched her, fingers tap-tap-tapping away, a more hurried and frenzied beat than before. Her hand shot out and she grabbed them, interlacing her digits with his. She looked up just in time to see him release a breath, looking all the more calm, cool, and collected.

"Are you always that nervous, Mr. Sold Out World Tour?"

"I like Boyband Member I Bumped Into much better than that," Derrick murmured, voice smooth and tantalizing. They were nose to nose now, and Massie could see every freckle on his perfect face. "And I'm only that nervous when I ask out pretty girls."

"Yeah?" she baited.

"More specifically," he started, bringing their intertwined fingers up to brush the hair out of her face, "when _you're_ that pretty girl."

"Oh, I see. I am very intimidating."

"This I know, Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things."

Massie let out a rather irritating (in her opinion) giggle. "Still don't know why you took my phone."

"You _dropped_ —" Derrick stopped mid-sentence, rethought his direction, and pressed his lips to her nose. "Maybe I just wanted to see you again."

"Well, here I am."

"Here you are," he breathed thoughtfully, and the twinkle in his eye made Massie's heart race. "I'm glad."

"Me too," she admitted.

He kissed her right there, and Massie was sure she heard someone high-five someone else.

(If she had to guess, it was Alicia and Chris.)

(And if you were wondering if she guessed correctly, she did.)

.

_6:45 PM_

The rest of the night went as bar crawls typically go.

Low State followed the girls around on their little adventure — and Kristen and Josh were particularly enchanted with one another by the time the third bar came along — until Kemp drank one too many Long Island Iced Teas and decided it was best for him to bounce before things got ugly, and since the paparazzi figured out their plans for the night, it seemed like the best course of action. Of course, the rest of the band went with him, something about teamwork or "one for all and all for one!" as Josh was fond of saying.

That didn't stop the girls from continuing on with their fun, and the evening went on in a blur of shots, mixed drinks, and loud, pulsing music.

.

_8:00 PM_

Drunk.

.

_9:37 PM _

Drunker.

.

_10:11 PM_

Drunkest.

.

_11:19 PM_

"You said we were going home," whined Massie.

"We _are_," Claire said.

"I would much rather take the subway," Kristen complained, hugging her arms to her chest. The temperature must have dropped about twenty degrees since they left Riot, and despite her winter coat and the amount of numbing alcohol in her body, it was pretty damn cold.

"I think we would all like that, but there's no way the subways will get us anywhere on time," Alicia said. "Walking is much faster. My apartment is just a couple of blocks ahead."

Claire pushed herself onto her tiptoes, like her six inch heels weren't giving her enough height to begin with. "No, it's no—"

Alicia forced her bony elbow into her side, and Claire yelped. "_Shut up_," she hissed.

Massie stopped short and turned around. "Is everything okay?"

"Y-yeah." Claire rubbed at her smarting side, shooting Alicia a murderous glance. "Just slipped on some ice, thankfully Leesh was here to save me. Thanks, _girl_!" She slapped Alicia's shoulder with enough force to make her stumble.

"Not a problem." Alicia spoke through gritted teeth.

Dylan, who had been consistently texting on her phone for the entirety of their fifteen minute walk, looped her arm through Massie's and redirected her. "We're almost there," she trilled, "and then we can get some hot tea."

But, as Claire had begun to guess, they were not headed towards Alicia's apartment complex. In fact, they were headed away from it, and not even ten minutes later, they were coming up to Times Square, where a number of tourists and other silly people who wanted to watch the ball drop were waiting for midnight.

Their redheaded friend led the way, weaving in and out of a number of annoying people cheering and yelling. A small girl stopped Kristen to tell her she liked her shoes and the blonde smiled down at her, repaying the compliment and admiring her hair.

They heard this year's host's voice as he talked over the din, announcing that there were about thirty minutes or so left until the new year truly began, and then a familiar guitar riff began, and —

". . . _this crown may be broken but it still fits like a glove . . ._"

"Are they _covering _Skye right now?"

"_No way_."

Kristen cackled so loudly the couple in front of them turned around to glare.

" _. . . you__'__ll never knock me down __— __no, you__'__ll never knock me down . . ._"

Massie came to a crashing halt, reaching out to steady herself on the barriers separating the stage from the crowd. How they had gotten here she had no idea, but . . . here she was, and there they were.

The fuzziness of her gaze cleared and she was looking right at them, at Low State, as they performed the very song Skye Hamilton would've sung if she hadn't canceled her New Year's Eve performance.

"We just thought it would be funny if we did that song considering all the trouble Skye put the Times Square Alliance through this week," Chris announced, and, again, Kristen's cackle was impossible to miss. As was Alicia's. "Now, in honor of our favorite teen sensation, we'll be performing a song that many of you have speculated is about her . . ."

The cheering was deafening as 'Rescue Me' began with Cam's impressive drum solo, then accompanied by some sort of trumpet.

Massie whirled around to face her friends, her mouth hanging open, face flushed, and eyes slightly glassy. "_What?_"

Alicia was too busy jumping around to answer her, and Claire could only shrug, as she, too, seemed to have no idea.

"You see, sweet Massie," Dylan started, swinging her arm around her shoulders and bringing her close, "you're extremely stubborn and kind of annoying, if I'm being honest, and while you were having a fit these past two days about Skye and her rehabilitation, Leesh and I were fixing your little problem."

("_This _song is about Skye?" Kristen shouted to Alicia, who nodded whilst grooving out, arms waving in an almost embarrassing way if it had not been her that was doing it. "That's so funny, I love this song."

"Who doesn't?" Alicia agreed, letting out a loud _whoop!_ when Chris's infamous high note ended.)

"It was easy, really," Dylan continued when Massie didn't say anything, just stared blankly. "You were, like, dying or something, and Derrick said that Low State would do it, seeing as they had no other plans . . . and all we had to do was get their manager to call Griffin and it worked out in the end."

"Wait a second . . ." Massie rubbed at her cold nose. "You guys _knew_ I wasn't going to lose my job and you let me believe that I was for _two days_?!"

Dylan grinned sheepishly. "Well, yeah. Come on, don't look at me like that — your breakdowns are kind of funny. You just stay in bed in a blanket burrito. Classic."

Massie frowned, balled her hand up into a fist, and hit Dylan in the shoulder as hard as she could, which didn't really do much since the redhead's coat was very much padded. "You guys are _so mean_!"

"If it makes you feel better, we didn't tell Claire," Dylan said. "She can't keep a secret to save her life."

Claire shrugged. "It's true."

"Wait," Massie interjected again, "what about Kemp when he said —"

"A lie," Dylan waved off her question easily. "He and the others had maybe one or two drinks, I'd say. Water the rest of the time. They just used that excuse as a way to leave so they could make it to soundcheck without you getting suspicious."

The brunette stomped her foot childishly. "Why did no one tell me?!"

"This reaction is great," Dylan answered, "and surprises are great. Don't you like it?"

Massie turned around, intently staring at the band and the crowd's reactions. From here, she could also see Griffin, standing with a few of the others who worked with her. Despite Skye's absence and the havoc it wreaked on her all week, things had actually turned out for the best.

"I love it," she said, and she let herself, for the first time all week, fully relax.

The new year was about fifteen minutes away now, Low State was on their third song, and everyone was having a good time. Derrick caught her eye and winked as his solo started up, and his voice turned her to jelly. It didn't help a bit that it felt as if he were singing directly to her.

(_ . . . I__'__ll pick you up at 8 and we can drive around, take you to the beach and we can head downtown while you hold my hand . . ._)

Everything works out in the end, Griffin told her all those hours ago. She had no idea how right he'd been.

( _. . . we__'__ll park it, lay down on the hood of my car, listen to the airplanes as we count the stars . . . tonight I__'__ll be your man, and tomorrow we can do it again . . ._)


End file.
